


A Shepherd's Daughter

by bloviate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Captain Swan AU - Freeform, F/M, Gen, No Curse AU, charming and ruth raise emma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloviate/pseuds/bloviate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Swan AU: Emma Charming was raised by her father and grandmother as a shepherd's daughter. When Emma learns that the Evil Queen intends to spread her reign of terror to neighboring kingdoms, Emma realizes that she has to do something to stop this. Seeking help from the pirate Captain Hook, Emma ventures through the Enchanted Forest to find the myth of a man, the Dark One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**The Shepherd's Daughter**

 

Emma woke up to thin rays of morning light filtering through her window. On the bed beside her, she felt her grandmother stirring as well. Careful not to rustle the bed too much, Emma slipped out from underneath the heavy wool blanket, pulled on her shoes, and tiptoed to close the drapes. Once they were firmly secured, she sneaked out of the room, managing to leave the exhausted Ruth asleep.

Her father was already awake, cooking some eggs on the fire. Emma grinned when she saw that there was already a plate of strawberries on the meager wooden table that served as both cooking space and dining table. Her father liked to pull out all the stops on Emma's birthday.

"Grandma is still sleeping," Emma intoned quietly. David turned to look up at Emma, and smiled wearily. He always had a weary look about him—ever since Emma could remember. Sometimes she would catch him crying by the window, Ruth patting his back or simply standing in solidarity beside him. Emma would always tiptoe back out of the room whenever that happened, and would never think of mentioning it to him.

Her father wore a simple, loose beige shirt, worn soft from constant use. His pants were a darker brown and hung baggy on his legs, nearly covering his soft leather shoes. His hair was graying sparsely, little bits of silver spaced through his otherwise dirty blonde hair. His skin was tanned from hours toiling under the sun.

"Happy birthday, Emma." David greeted Emma, standing up to wrap her in a warm hug. Emma felt her father's hand come to rest on her head, and sighed into his embrace. If there was one thing that could always calm her, make her feel warm and welcomed, it was a hug from David.

Emma let go first, and David turned around, back to the breakfast. He started scraping the eggs onto two separate plates, giving Emma a larger portion. Emma accepted the eggs gratefully, and they both sat down to the table. Emma savored every strawberry, though she was careful to leave enough for Ruth to have when she woke up. They were perfectly ripe, and Emma grinned at David through a mouthful of red.

After breakfast, Emma followed David outside. They let the sheep out of the pen, David herding them towards a spot of grass that had gone uneaten for longer than the other patches.

The sunset was a glorious thing where Emma lived. She always loved this time of the morning, when all was silent save for the chirping of the birds, the chattering of the sheep, and the breath of her father beside her. The wind picked up speed ever few minutes, rustling the trees that surrounded the farm. The sky was settling into the day, turning from orange and pink to the light cerulean blue that reminded Emma of David's eyes.

_Definitely green_ , Emma thought, thinking of her own eyes, and how she must've inherited the clear grass-green color. _A woman with green eyes and wavy hair._ Emma couldn't figure out the color; her own hair was the golden blonde of straw, and her father's was just a few shades darker, so that explained where she got that trait. The rest of her features were up for grabs.

"Jill looks like she's limping," Emma spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the morning peace. "Front left leg," she specified, noticing the dip every time her favorite sheep took a step. She'd named the sheep when she was just a few years old, after rhyme she'd heard of Jack and Jill when Ruth had taken her to town. The other children had been chanting the song while skipping around in a circle. On the last notes, everyone had thrown themselves on the ground.

"I'll have grandma check her out when she gets up," David replied after studying the sheep for a moment, equally quiet. Emma nodded, and surveyed the rest of the herd. She was about to note that one of the sheep, the one that had been bitten in the hindquarters by a stray dog, was straying from the rest of the group, when the sound of hooves approaching caught her attention.

David and Emma turned at the same time to watch the Black Knight approaching.

"What day is today?" Emma wondered, thinking that maybe she had miscounted, and today was tax day and not next week.

"It's not tax day," David confirmed, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. "Go inside and wake grandma."

"There isn't any time," Emma negated. The regular Black Knight was a generally good-mannered fellow, but his biggest peeve was when someone went inside while he was coming. The first time David had Emma go inside while the Black Knight came, he demanded Emma be brought back out, with the threat of taking her to fight in the army. When it happened again—David had heard the hooves before Douglas was even in view, but somehow he knew that Emma had been outside—he struck David, giving Emma's father a black eye, and warned that there would be further punishment should it happen again.

It had been warning enough.

David turned towards her, looking as if he was going to argue, but there was no time. The Black Knight was upon them. David's arm tightened around Emma; there was no use running now. _Anyways_ , Emma thought, fear thickening in her mind, _best not to involve grandma Ruth_.

Emma had to admire the horse; she didn't know how a horse had developed such a _rich_ , _oily_ , black coat, but it was one of the most beautiful coat's she had ever seen. The horse's mane was smooth and brushed to silky perfection. Emma couldn't imagine that the mask was comfortable, however.

"The Queen demands an extra one and a half percent in taxes from all farmers on her land," The man told them, his voice deep and booming. Emma was appalled, but she dared not speak. The Queen's knights were know to be rough and cruel. His hand was already resting on the sword at his hip; Emma didn't want to give him a reason to draw it.

" _One and a half percent_?" David demanded, as outwardly appalled as Emma was inwardly. "How does she expect us to _live_?"

"That is no problem of the Queen's," the Black Knight replied, angling himself on the horse so that David and Emma could look directly into the dark depths of his eyes.

Emma recognized this Knight; he wasn't the one who came regularly to collect taxes. This one had eyes as dark as the horse's coat, a rounded jawline from too many sweets, and a generally cruel demeanor about him.

"May we inquire as to why there is such a sharp rise in taxes?" David asked, indignant.

"We've discovered new territory that the Queen wishes to acquire; a land called Arendelle. They have many assets that the Queen believes would mesh nicely with our kingdom. The taxes will aid in strengthening our army and navy. The Queen thanks you for your contribution."

Emma was shocked and outraged. The Queen intended to use the money that was already _barely_ putting food on their table to conquer some new land that wouldn't do _anything_ for Emma and her family? She wanted to shout indignations, but didn't want to put her family in further danger than was necessary. Inwardly, however, she was already plotting how she could help out her family monetarily.

David stood stone still. He seemed to be as angered about the news of war as Emma was. However, he simply nodded, and guided Emma back into the house so he could scrounge up whatever money they had left.

"How can they do this dad?" Emma whispered, wary of both waking Ruth and notifying the knight of their conversing. "We are already barely making it by as it is!"

David's jaw flexed as he counted out coins from his ever lightening coin sack. "I don't know Emma." He turned towards Emma, fire in his eyes. "I promise you, we will get through this. I promise. Now stay here while I go out to pay him. Wake your grandmother."

Emma nodded quickly. David turned on his heel and hurried back outside. Emma watched him go, and then stalked towards the door to her room, ideas forming in her mind already. She would take back the kingdom—she would overthrow the Queen—she'd get a new job to support David and Ruth. She had to do _something_.

There was a gnawing feeling in her gut, a little voice that was telling her _she_ needed to stop this, _she_ needed to do something, take action against the Queen. It terrified her—she had never been all that brave, had always tended to stand behind her father rather than with him. But it shouldn't be that way, she realized. _She_ should be the one standing up for her land, _she_ should be the one—

Emma didn't know. but she sure as hell wanted to find out.

"Grandma," Emma shook Ruth's shoulder, "wake up, there's a Black Knight here," Emma whispered.

Ruth sat up quickly, awake at once. Ruth was an old woman, Emma didn't know how old, but she wore her age regally. Her hair was still in braids from sleeping, and her chocolate brown eyes were wide with trepidation. She glanced around the room, saw that the door was open and rushed up to close it.

"Emma, get under the bed, quickly!" Ruth urged, kneeling next to Emma. She tried to gently push Emma under the bed, but when Emma resisted, she increased her efforts.

"No, it’s okay," Emma tried to reassure Ruth. "They're here to collect more taxes. The Queen wants to take some place called Arendelle by force."

"Oh dear," Ruth breathed, leaning against the bed frame next to Emma. "Oh no, what will we do?"

"We have to stop her," Emma replied, thinking that Ruth was speaking of the Queen trying to take Arendelle. Ruth glanced over at Emma, shocked.

"What will we do about our farm?" Ruth clarified. Then, appearing to have realized what Emma was getting at, she turned fully towards Emma. Grasping her hands, Ruth looked Emma directly in the eyes. "You mustn't think you can do anything t stop the Queen—there is _nothing_ you could do, nor anything you _should_ do except try to keep our farm running."

"But grandma," Emma exhaled, trying to find the words to express how she felt about the subject. "I've always felt, as long as I can remember, that there's something _wrong_ with my life—it's nothing that you or Dad have done, it's just this gut feeling that I should be doing _more_ , somehow," Emma shook her head, squeezing Ruth's hands.

"Everyone feels that way, Emma" Ruth tried to tell her. Emma shook her head again, glancing at the door. Her father had just entered the house.

"This is different," Emma assured Ruth. "I know what I'm going to do. Whatever it takes, I'm going to overthrow the Queen. I don't know how, but I will. She's a tyrant, and she doesn't deserve the throne. She doesn't deserve her people."

Ruth was shaking her head vehemently. " _No_ , Emma. You must _never_ talk about the Queen like that. She has ears and eyes everywhere. You must never try to oppose the Queen—you especially! Please, Emma, promise me you'll never mention this again, never mention _her_ again,"

Emma hesitated, wondering where all the venom in her sweet grandmother's voice was coming from. There was steel in her voice and her grip; she wouldn't release Emma until she'd had Emma's word.

Emma lied. "Okay, grandma. I promise," she assured, looking away.

The truth was, Emma couldn't make that promise. A piece of her very soul was telling her that this was wrong, that she desperately needed to do something to dethrone the Queen—a man of myth. A man called the Dark One.

* * *

**Author's Note:  
** This is a WIP story that has the first fifteen chapters already written. I will be posting the rest of them within the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy!


	2. To the Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma heads to the market and makes acquaintance with pirates.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

**To the Market**

A week after the Black Knight came to collect the extra taxes, Emma finally saw her opportunity to start enacting her plan. It was a day before the Black Knight would come again to collect the regular taxes, and David was counting the money from his coin pouch. He was coming up short.

"Emma, I need you to go into town and try to sell Charlie," David informed Emma morosely. Charlie was their new horse, eight years old, with many productive years ahead of him. They'd bought him from another farmer, who was joining the Queen's army, for a low price—a steal really—and he'd served them well for the year they'd had him. Unfortunately, they did not have enough money with the raised tax to afford the second horse.

Emma had to leave early so that she would make it to the market by midday— the best time for selling—and be home in time for dinner. Kissing her father and grandmother on the cheeks goodbye, Emma set off down the dirt road toward town, keeping a firm hold on Charlie by his lead. He was a loyal horse, and wouldn't run, but Emma needed to be absolutely certain that she would be bringing home enough coin for David to pay the taxes.

Today would be a moist and windy day, Emma imagined. There were bits of light shining through the cloud cover, but for the most part the sky was weighed down with thick, grey, rain-carrying clouds. It was cold enough for Emma to decide to bring her cloak; heavy and lined with fur, it would keep her warm even after it was soaked through with water. Though it had cost a pretty penny for Ruth to make, it had been enchanted by a local soothsayer in exchange for a lock of Ruth's hair, and grew with Emma as she had aged. Emma never asked what the soothsayer had done with the hair, though Ruth had been lethargic the entire month afterwards.

Charlie made a noise of discontent, and Emma turned her attentions towards him, rubbing his neck and shoulder as they walked. He'd always been an intuitive horse; he probably knew that he was being sold. Emma hoped that she could sell him to a master that would be as kind and caring as David was, though she'd have to sell him either way.

As Emma walked, she made stories in her mind about who her mother must have been. For David to never look at another woman, for Ruth to cringe at the mention of her, for her to have left her family, her young daughter and husband.

 _She was a pirate_ , Emma thought wildly. _Sailing the sea without a care, she couldn't be appeased with the life of a simple shepherd's wife. She would have stayed though, if it weren't for the evil pirate Captain Hook coming back because of old wounds, stealing her away to sea, never to return._

_She was a knight in a foreign kingdom. She couldn't stay with her family because she owed it to her King and Queen, to her people, to protect the land she'd grown up on._

_She was a princess,_ Emma always imagined. But she could never find the words to hypothesize another story about her mother along that thread.

Whenever Emma was being truthful with herself, she realized that the stories were simply a coping mechanism; she couldn't understand, didn't understand, would never understand _why_ her mother had left. Was it because Emma wasn't good enough? Had she gone off to find another family with a better daughter, a smarter, or stronger, or more courageous one? Emma didn't know. And while her grandmother reassured her that it was no fault of Emma's, Emma couldn't help but think that she was the problem.

"Oi! Watch out!" Emma glanced up quickly, just in time to veer out of the way of a carriage going far too fast for a dirt road. Emma looked back when it was passed, but no one stopped to see if she was fine.

"Royals," Emma muttered, patting Charlie on the neck. He huffed in agreement.

* * *

 Emma made good time to the market, and arrived just as the sky opened up a bit to let a few drizzles of rain through. It wasn't a great day for selling a horse, but it was the only day she had.

The market was set up along one long street, and in the town square. There were dozens of stalls protected from the rain by colorfully painted pieces of wood. The colors stood out sharply to the overall grayness of the surrounding area; green, blue, red, orange, yellow against a backdrop of dismal grey.

There were quite a few people, surprisingly enough, especially for the weather. Hundreds of people milled through the street, stopping at every booth the browse the contents, then meandering on to the next one. Emma tried to keep near the most crowded stalls.

"Horse for sale!" Emma shouted, wandering through the covered stalls. "Hard worker! Fast runner! Horse for sale! Price negotiable!" _To an extent_ , Emma thought. They needed enough money to cover the extra taxes that had been taken from them, and if Emma was able to get enough, she would also need to purchase David a better pillow. He slept on the floor, and his pillow was wearing as thin as a piece of parchment. David would never purchase it for himself, but he wouldn't object if Emma came home with one, and enough money to cover the tax.

"Horse for sale!" Emma shouted again, slightly distracted as she smelled the most glorious smell of baking sweet bread. "Good—good for work horse," Emma shook her head, scolded herself for allowing her mouth to water, and turned her attention back to the market, shouting out about what a great horse Charlie was.

"I'll pay you just to shut up about that damn horse!" A stranger shouted out, to Emma's surprise and disappointment. There seemed to be an agreement in the crowd; Charlie was not going to be sold with Emma shouting out about how great he was.

Emma sighed, clicked to Charlie, and started to turn around to the end of the market. Maybe if she tried to sell _directly_ to people, she would have more luck.

As she was turning, her eyes lighted on a jeweler's stall, where something shiny caught her eye—a ring. The crowd around the stall was looser, so Emma was able to draw closer with Charlie in tow to observe the piece of jewelry. It wasn't anything she would _ever_ be able to afford, however it never hurt to look at pretty things.

The ring was a simplistically intricate one; a thin silver band inlaid with the smallest emeralds Emma had ever seen, right along the band. In the center was the most beautiful verdant emerald of them all; although it was only twice as big as the miniscule emeralds, it drew her eye instantly.

The jeweler, a voluptuous woman with beady brown eyes and tanned skin the same color as her tawny hair eyed Emma with interest.

"I see you've an eye for precious things," she spoke, her voice a contradiction; she spoke smoothly, though her voice was rough; she had an accent that sounded as familiar as the rustle of the trees yet as foreign as the crashing waves. "I will tell you what, sweet pea, you give me that ring upon your finger, and I'll give you this one glittering in my stall."

Emma stiffened at once. She glanced down at the ring on her middle left finger. The band was silver, and there was a solitary chartreuse jewel set on it. It was beautiful in its own old-fashioned way, and it was one of Emma's most prized possessions. She wiggled the ring around on her finger, already angering at the idea that she could trade such a valuable, personal item, for some shiny trinket.

" _No_ ," Emma enunciated, taking a staggered step backwards. She felt personally offended by the jeweler, though knew that she shouldn't feel that way. It wasn't as if the jeweler knew the value it had for her.

Startling at the vehemence in Emma's voice, the jeweler raised her eyebrows and her hands in a defensive position, and quickly retracted her offer. "Never mind sweet pea, forget I said anything," her accent had disappeared. A few moments later, she was already focused on selling to a different customer, using a different, more pronounced and regal accent.

Emma shook herself, and tightened her hold on Charlie. Rolling the ring around her middle finger once more, Emma turned herself around—

—and ran smack into a leather-clad chest.

Her gaze went down to his thick leather boots, then up to his black leather legs, the long coat he wore which must have weighed fifty pounds, to his dark vest. She admired the silk scarf he wore around his neck, and the black stubble that wrapped effortlessly around his sharp jaw. His cheekbones were sun-spotted, and he had the thickest black eyelashes Emma had seen on a man.

Emma finally looked up into the most gorgeous, cerulean blue eyes she's ever seen. If her father's eyes were the blue of the morning sky, this man's eyes encompassed the sky and all of the stormy oceans. And they were focused directly on her.

"Hello love. Fancy a drink?" The stranger asked, reaching out a hand to stroke Emma's blonde hair away from her shoulder. Emma saw the intimidation tactic for what it was, but took a step back apprehensively anyways. She knew who this was—of course she knew, he was proudly sporting a gleaming silver hook in place of a left hand.

"I don't drink," Emma replied, which was the truth. Her grandfather had been a drunk, and had died of it when her _father_ was young, leaving David with awful memories that to this day he was hesitant to speak of. She would never follow in that stranger's footsteps.

Captain Hook cocked his head, a roguish smile still lighting his face. "And what if I told you I will buy your horse? Might I divulge some answers as to why that ring you wear means so much to you?"

Emma narrowed her eyes at the cocky attitude, but imagined that she could listen to his soft, lilting accent all day long. "He costs ten gold coins and seven shillings," Emma steeped up the price by three gold coins and five shillings, ready to barter for the young horse. He was a good horse, a young horse, but he was nowhere near worth ten gold coins and seven shillings. Though Emma did _not_ think it was wise to try and hustle a man like Captain Hook, she was interested in seeing how much he would be willing to come back with.

She did not expect his answer.

"Smee," Captain Hook called to his right, not taking his eyes off of Emma. "Take this horse and pay—"

"Emma. Emma Charming," Emma answered the prompt, shell-shocked that her offer had been so quickly taken up. She felt a morsel of guilt gnaw at her gut, but didn't mention anything. The way she saw it, she needed the money more than he did—he would probably just pick pocket a couple of the townsfolk to earn it back anyways.

Captain Hook nodded, and spoke again. "Take Miss Charming's horse and pay the miss her fee."

"Yes Cap'n," a young man replied, hustling up to take the horse from Emma. He was round in the face and stomach, wearing a striped shirt with a tan overcoat and a bright, scarlet hat that almost blocked him from seeing. Emma mutely handed the horse to Smee as he counted out ten gold coins and seven shillings from a coin pouch, practically writhing with appalled anxiousness.

"Now, milady, where shall we adjourn for the second half of our bargain?" Hook asked politely, spreading his good hand outwards as if to say that they had the whole town.

 _We probably do, with his influence_ , Emma thought. "There's a bench just a minute out of town, it's a nice place to sit when it isn't raining."

"Nonsense," Hook disagreed immediately. "How about there?" He asked, motioning to the bakery Emma had been sniffing at just a handful of minutes ago.

"They have great bread," Emma admitted as they began to walk in that direction. It wasn't a lie; she'd had the bread as a birthday present on her tenth birthday, and it was absolutely magnificent. The shop's owners hadn't changed, so she doubted that the bread was any less amazing. And the smell…it made Emma's mouth water.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at one of the five small tables that were laid inside—most of the patrons left the shop as soon as Hook entered, though the owner was too terrified to kick him out. _And here I am, having rolls with him_ , Emma thought, looking down at the sweet roll she'd just bought with some of the extra money. _And I'll still have some leftover from the amount we need for taxes—even after I buy dad a pillow._

"It was my mother's," Emma intoned after a moment of expectant silence. "When I was two or three years old, I don't really remember, she left me and my father. We're shepherds, we live on a simple farm, and she left without a goodbye. The only thing of hers that she didn't bring with her was this ring. It was my grandmother's wedding ring, and her wedding ring from my father." Emma took a deep breath; as much as she loved fantasizing about who her mother was, it was hell to talk about.

Emma's hand itched to travel up to her throat, where there was a small vial strung around a thin strip of leather. Inside the vial was the other thing that she did not bring with her; a strand of her hair. For some reason, Emma couldn't even begin to fathom, she had wrapped the necklace around Emma's neck while she'd been sleeping. Emma didn't remember it personally, only remembered that she _always_ had the necklace with her.

She couldn't even being to understand what the hair represented; the glass was colored blue, and was sealed shut so tightly that Emma couldn't even think to open it without shattering the glass of the vial, which she'd sworn she wouldn't do. And so, her mother's hair color remained a mystery.

"What of your father?" Hook prompted after Emma had been silent for too long. Emma glanced up, and saw a surprising amount of understanding in Hook's eyes.

"He won't speak of her," Emma replied. "Grandma—my grandmother told me that after she left, he went looking for her, but came back a week later. He didn't talk for a month after that, and now neither of them even mention her. Sometimes…" Emma hesitated, wondering if she should divulge her father's weakness. In the end, she decided it wasn't her secret to share. "Sometimes I wonder why she left," Emma said instead. "I wonder if it was something I had done, something I wasn't doing, if there was something I _could_ have done to make her stay."

"It wasn't your fault," Hook spoke softly. Emma refused to look at him. "You were just a babe, how could it be your fault?"

Emma shook her head, trying to clear the dark emotions from her mind. There was no use crying over it now, now that the event was long over. She only had to look to the future. And speaking of the future…

"I have to get home," Emma intoned, forgetting about the delicious roll that she'd been yearning for earlier in the day. Emma looked up, though, to express her gratitude for Hook purchasing the horse. _Perhaps he isn't as bad as all the stories make him out to be_ , Emma thought.

Hook winked, standing as well. "My offer of a drink is still on the table," he intoned, sticking his thumbs in his belt suggestively. Emma rolled her eyes at the offer. _And perhaps I'm just imagining things._

* * *

 

The sky was darkening rapidly as Emma went to purchase the softest pillow she could find. As she browsed the stalls that remained open, she couldn't help but overhear a conversation drifting through the open door of the tavern.

"She plans to take Arendelle by force, if no one stops her. But who would be brave enough to try and stop the Evil Queen?" Coming from the warbling voice of a drunk man, Emma didn't put much stock into the question. However, the reply instantly piqued her interest.

"The Dark One, of course," a heavy drawling voice replied easily, as if there weren't Black Knights roaming the streets around the tavern. Emma glanced up, but couldn't see inside the doors clearly enough to make out who was speaking.

Emma looked around quickly and, making a snap decision, favored the door to the tavern over the vendor selling pre-made pillows.

Inside was dark and surprisingly warm. Behind the counter there was a large stock of different alcohols, the bartender a sleazy-looking older man who eyed the room before him with contempt. Emma tried to avoid being seen by him, not wanting to spend any of the coins to stay in the tavern so that she could listen in on the mysterious conversation.

Emma quickly located the warbling man, who sat at a large wooden table, surrounded by rough-looking men.

"The Dark One's a _myth_ ," a pale, skinny man in his late thirties spat, taking a swig of a pint glass.

"He's more myth than man, however _I_ happen to know where to find him." This coming from the dirty man with the thick voice. His hair was curly, white and black beneath his triangular hat. He had a small patch of black hair on his chin, and a thick black mustache. His face was rounded, though it was obvious he was more muscle than fat. He wore a black vest, and a red silk shirt underneath. He was drinking from another pint glass, though at a much slower rate than the drunk man and his compatriots.

"Where is he?" Emma asked loudly, then cursed herself for speaking up as all eyes were on her.

"And who are you?" The man asked; Emma quickly realized that, whoever this group was, this man was their leader.

"Emma," Emma replied, not trusting him with her full name. "Can you find him? The Dark One?"

The man stared at her for a second. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the other men without even speaking. When they were all gone, Emma took a seat across from the man.

"I am Blackbeard," Blackbeard said. Emma knew him as a pirate, but didn't know anything further than that. "And if anyone were able to find the Dark One, it is I. Why do you wish to know the location of the Dark One?"

Emma crossed her arms and leaned back against the booth chair, then quickly sat back up when her cloak met stickiness. Emma lowered her voice, speaking in a hushed tone. "The Evil Queen has been a tyrant to this land for far too long. I think that the Dark One will be able to stop her."

Blackbeard raised a bushy black eyebrow. "You think?" He asked, then started chuckling. He downed the rest of his drink, and leaned across the table towards Emma. "I _know_ he will be able to defeat the Evil Queen. The question is; how far are you willing to go to seek him out?"

At this, Emma hesitated, her resolve quavering. How far _was_ she willing to go? Was she willing to leave her father, her grandmother, all alone? They needed her on the farm; David wouldn't be able to work the farm and tend to the sheep all at once. And while Ruth might be a sturdy old woman, she was still an old woman, and wouldn't be able to help as much as was needed.

 _What am I doing_ , Emma wondered. _I come here to sell a horse and buy a pillow for Dad, now I've had a sit-down chitchat with two pirates and I'm actually_ considering _leaving my family to pursue a quest of—of what?_ Revenge _against the Queen? Revenge for taking some more money?_ Emma was disgusted with herself.

"I'm sorry," Emma intoned, sliding out from the booth. "I'm not willing to go very far, I—I have to go—"

Blackbeard surveyed her for a moment with keen eyes. He nodded slowly, glancing around the bustling tavern. "If you change your mind darling, I will be docked until tomorrow at midday, and I have room for an extra passenger. Think about it; you would be a hero, bringing the Dark One back from the hole he's been hiding in for the past twenty years."

"Thank you," Emma intoned, backing away, "But don't count on me."

As she turned to leave, her eyes caught on someone else's—Captain Hook was sitting in the shadows of the tavern, barely visible, but undoubtedly staring at Emma.

Emma swallowed thickly, and left the tavern in a hurry. She was going to be late for dinner.


	3. A Mistaken Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma takes a leap of faith.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**A Mistaken Leap**

It turned out that when Emma got back home, she was not late for dinner, as dark as it was. It appeared that dinner hadn't even started—probably would not start that night. Because when Emma got home, there were Black Knights ransacking her house.

"Emma, come quickly," Emma jumped in surprise, but quickly followed as Ruth led her into their barn. There was a small nook that wasn't visible from anywhere in the barn, expect from where you were looking out, and Ruth quickly shoved Emma into the nook, and followed her in. There, they waited in suspense as the Black Knights broke everything in their home.

"Where's dad?" Emma whispered, trying to make out her grandmother's weary face in the dim light. She could only see the general outline of a soft face. She felt her grandmother's hands slip into her own, and tried to squeeze her hands, but couldn't move her muscles. There was a nail digging into her back, wetness saturating her knees, but damn it if Emma wasn't being as quiet as a mouse.

"He's inside. They're holding him at crossbow, though I don't think they're going to hurt him. The Queen is more likely to scare men than kill them."

 _The Queen is here_ , Emma thought anxiously. She remembered how angered her father was at the raised taxes, and hoped he wouldn't question anything. The capricious Queen was not known for looking kindly upon those who questioned her actions.

Emma was about to reply to Ruth, but she was stopped by the sound of approaching footsteps. Black Knights had such heavy steps, but these ones were light, clacking rather than thumping. Emma's heart stilled, and she might have forgotten to breath for a couple of moments. It was the Evil Queen.

"Search the place," Emma heard a terse, feminine voice demand. "I want every barrel of hay overturned, every hoe and shovel displaced. If she is here, _find her_. I want the bitch _flayed_." The venom in her voice chilled Emma to the bone.

"Yes, my Queen," came a gruff reply. Emma wondered who they were talking about. It couldn't be about her; she'd done nothing against the crown, except protest the taxes briefly in her mind and in her home. There wasn't any reason she should be hiding from the Queen, nor any reason the Queen should want to find her and _flay_ her.

The next couple of moments were the most nerve-wracking Emma had ever experienced. Emma tried to keep as still as possible, limited her breathing, and yet it didn't feel like enough. Her heart was pounding so loudly, could the knights not hear? A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and dripped into her lap; how could the Black Knights not hear _that_? It sounded like a tree falling to Emma. The pounding of blood in her skull could wake a giant in the clouds!

The footsteps approached, and as much as Emma tried to tell herself they couldn't see her—there was a barrel of hay in the way, it was too dark, and the nook blended in seamlessly with the other slats of wood—it didn't keep her from covering her mouth with her free hand. Ruth had Emma's fingers in a death grip, Emma's bones were creaking, her skin was too tight, there wasn't enough air and she felt like the pressure would cause her too implode. Just when she thought they were had—

"The bandit Snow White is not here, my Queen," the Black Knight spoke without inflection. His voice could only have been inches away from where Emma was squatting. Ruth stilled beside her, and Emma wondered if she was realizing, too, how close they were to being found out.

"Are you certain?" the Evil Queen demanded, though her voice sounded further away.

"There is no one else here," the Black Knight reaffirmed. There was silence. Emma counted to twenty-eight before the Queen barked out orders for everyone to leave, they were all dismissed. Even when the last hooves sounded on the dirt road, Emma and Ruth did not move, did not speak. Only after David brought a light into the barn and sought them out did they finally unwind from their hiding place.

"Daddy," Emma exhaled, and rushed into his waiting arms. In his arms, she felt safe and comforted. He wrapped her in a warm embrace, and then opened his arms for Ruth to join in the group hug. There they stayed, still as a statue, until Emma finally broke away.

"Are you all right?" David asked, glancing from Ruth to Emma.

"I'm okay. Dad, what happened? Why were they looking through our house for…Snow White? Who's Snow White?" The name felt strange, misplaced on Emma's tongue, though she couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"Snow White is a bandit, no one more. She's been missing for a while, maybe the Queen heard a rumor that she would be around these parts?" Ruth sighed, shaking her head. "Who knows? It certainly does not matter to us."

"But why would she be here?" Emma wondered, feeling sick to her stomach.

"I don't know," David spoke shortly. "What is important is that we are all okay. Emma, did you sell Charlie?"

Something was off, it occurred to Emma. She would have thought David would be more concerned about the possibility of a bandit being found on his property, and the tyranny of the Queen for ransacking his house.

"Let's go inside," Ruth intoned before Emma could respond, and grabbed her granddaughters hand. Emma followed Ruth dutifully back into her home, where she was startled with the overall damage done.

Emma and her family did not have very many worldly possessions. It spoke volumes about the damage done to the house that it was in complete disarray. There were broken dishes— _did they think the bandit Snow White was hiding in the cupboards?—_ and torn rugs, the table was halved and clothes were strewn everywhere. Their food was spilled across the ground in the kitchen, and it looked as if the bed was broken as well. Their sole painting was torn down, hopefully not ripped, but Emma couldn't check. All she could do was stare in horror at the mess that was left behind.

 _What do I do?_ Emma wondered. She was aware that her father was asking her questions, her grandmother was trying to guide her to sit down on one of the broken chairs, but she could only stare. She wasn't petrified—in fact, Emma had decided this ransacking was grounds for change. A significant change.

When leaving the market, she'd been unsure and afraid. Afraid of the terrible, terrible anxiety that if she left to defeat the Queen, if she left to join Blackbeard, her family would crumble. _She_ would crumble. But it wasn't the truth. _It was not the truth._

 _I_ need _to do it,_ Emma realized. _I need to do this_ for _my family, not in spite of my family. For everyone who lives in the Enchanted Forest. I need to stop waiting for someone else to go off and save the day—if I want anything to happen, I need to be the catalyst. I will_ not _let this Queen—Regina step over my family and everything we have worked hard for. I need to act._

_I need to act._

There was steel in her eyes and resolve in her mind. Emma needed to act, and if that meant meeting Blackbeard and joining the pirate, then so be it. If she needed to get her hands dirty, then so be it. If dethroning Regina required destroying her? So be it.

* * *

 

Emma left for town the very next morning. Waking up before her father was difficult, but necessary. She left the coin pouch on the counter, taking only a few shillings and hoping it would be enough barter passage on Blackbeard's ship in search of the Dark One. She took her cloak, her shoes, and a loaf of stale bread David had planned on feeding the birds with in the morning. She kissed Ruth on the forehead, blew a kiss to David, and left before the crack of dawn.

She was certain she would be able to make it to the market before midday, when Blackbeard said he would be leaving, yet she couldn't help but keep a rush to her step. The sooner she was in town, far away from where David could reach her, could try and stop her, the better she would feel.

Emma did not know why she was doing this. She didn't know why it was her job to stop the Queen, why she was aligning herself with a pirate to do it, and didn't know what her plan was. She just knew that she _needed_ to do what felt right.

"This feels more right than anything has in a long time," Emma assures herself out loud, needing to hear something, anything, in the stillness of the early morning. It was the truth; for a while, she felt as if she'd been running on autopilot. She was doing what was normal, what she was supposed to do, for too long in her life. It was time for her to do something courageous.

* * *

 

It was just before midday when Emma arrived in town. She could practically feel her father gaining on her—it was probably long since he'd realized she was gone. She could picture him taking their old horse, riding the poor thing as fast as he could to catch up. But he would be too late.

The docks were rickety and old, but they served their purpose. They were raised, so Emma had to climb a flight of stairs, so that she was level with the ships. There were only a few in harbor—and though Emma thought that she'd arrived on time, she saw what _had_ to be Blackbeard's ship sailing away.

It was magnificent, truly worthy of the pirate; painted in glorious blues and yellows, it was the most colorful pirate ship Emma had heard of—but it was undoubtedly his. It only took her a moment to decide that, with her newfound courage, she needed to take the proverbial leap—only this one would have a physical counterpart as well.

Steeling herself, Emma judged the distance to be about five feet and growing. If she was going to do it, she only had the one shot. So she took it.

Taking a running start, Emma was almost distracted when she heard her name being shouted from behind. But she couldn't allow herself any hesitation.

She almost made the mistake of closing her eyes as she took the last step, but opened them just in time to see her feet leaving the dock—

and she was

flying

for the longest second of her life

_THUD_

Emma had learned how to fall correctly when her father taught her how to swordfight, and she automatically employed those methods when she realized she wasn't stable. Tucking herself in, she allowed her shoulder to take the first impact, and rolled from there, until she came back in a somersault and landed on her knees. As she landed, she heard a long _riiiip_ as she landed on the skirt of her dress and tore the skirt off the top.

Her heart was pounding, she ached, and she was still running on the adrenaline of the moment. But when she looked up and saw the awed—and certainly confused—pirates staring down at her, she couldn't help but celebrate.

"Yes!" Emma shouted, standing dizzily, she grabbed her skirt to hold it up before she laughed and rocketed a fist in the air. She had made the jump!

"Hello love," came a drawling voice from behind. Emma's heart thudded to a halt. "Fancy telling me what you're doing aboard my ship?"

Emma whirled around and came face to face with a pirate. Only, this one wasn't an old, scary-looking one called Blackbeard. Emma was on Captain Hook's ship.

"But—" she looked around at the crew, and then back at the dock, where her father sat astride their old horse, shouting words Emma could no longer hear. Docked right next to where the ship Emma had just leapt onto had been docked was another pirate's ship, this one presumably Captain Blackbeard's. "I…" Emma didn't know what to say. She looked up at Captain Hook, mouth gaping. He looked back at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Uh," Emma cleared her throat. "Well, I wasn't aware this was _your_ ship," Emma finally spoke, trying not to cringe at her own words.

Hook raised an eyebrow, and glanced around at his stalling crew. "Back to work, the lot of you!" He shouted, then grabbed Emma by the elbow. "Follow me to the helm."

Emma glanced around as the crew immediately started up whatever task they'd dropped when Emma dropped in. She was amazed by the efficiency they performed their tasks with.

She felt unsteady walking on the vessel, and more than once almost tipped over. She'd never been on a ship before, and found that although she loved the smell and look of the ocean, she couldn't quite get used to walking on it.

"Please, you have to turn around, I've jumped aboard the wrong ship," Emma found her voice and tried to explain. Hook grabbed the massive wheel, but did not direct the ship back to dock.

"What ship, pray tell, were you planning on boarding?" He wanted to know. Emma grew impatient; every moment she spent aboard this ship and not Blackbeard's was a moment that she didn't have. He was bound to leave any minute now.

"Blackbeard's," Emma spoke quickly. "I need to—wait, where's Charlie?" Emma just realized that she could not see any horse aboard the ship.

Hook looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "What use have I of a horse, love?"

"But you—never mind, just please, I must get back to the dock."

"Unless you fancy a swim, I don't see that happening. What use have you of Blackbeard?"

"Well aren't you a gentleman," Emma muttered, then said more clearly, "I don't know how to swim, and it is _imperative_ for all who call the Enchanted Forest home that I get to him!"

"I'm always a gentleman," Hook smiled thinly at her. "But Blackbeard is not. He is not the most reliable pirate; I suggest you conduct your business elsewhere," Hook advised, still not looking at Emma. Emma stamped her foot in frustration; it was childish, but she couldn't help the action.

"I _can't_ look elsewhere because he's the only one who knows the location of the Dark One!" Emma exclaimed, not thinking her words through.

"The Dark One?" Hook intoned, whirling to face Emma. He advanced on her as she started backing up, matching each of her steps until her back was against the railing and he was less than an arm's length away. She inhaled quickly, noticing again that his eyes were _such_ a magnificent blue. "What business have you with him? Who _are_ you, Emma Charming?"

Emma swallowed thickly. "I can't say," she spoke softly, though her heart raced with fear of what the dreaded Captain Hook would do to her. He wasn't known for helping people, that was for sure.

"Unless you wish to walk the plank, love," Hook spoke dangerously, equally soft as Emma. "I suggest you explain your business with the Dark One."

Emma closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She was already too far away from the dock for her to reasonably convince Hook to take her back, and she would die within seconds of trying to swim. Perhaps enlisting Captain Hook's help was the best option—assuming he could find the Dark One same as Blackbeard, which was highly unlikely. _Unlikely, but worth a shot_ , Emma reasoned. Steeling herself, she pushed off the deck's railing, putting herself almost chest to chest with Hook.

"He is the only one capable of defeating the Evil Queen," Emma explained. "I plan to bargain with him for assistance in destroying her."

Hook clenched his jaw, as if thinking something through. There was a guarded expression to him, though underneath the surface Emma could see doubt, hesitance, and something else boiling. She could tell her was deliberating over something, but couldn't fathom what. Finally, Hook nodded.

"I hope you have something of value, love. The Crocodile accepts no small trinkets," Hook warned.

"I understand," Emma replied, a sliver of hope blossoming in her belly. She twisted her mother's ring around her finger; it was her most prized possession, yet wholly worth the possibility of unseating the tyrannical reign of the Evil Queen.

"And I hope you've a thick enough skin to bargain with the devil," Hook added. He closed his eyes, let out a breath of air, and frowned. "What say you to my offer; I will assist you in finding the Dark One."

"In exchange for what?" Emma prompted hesitantly after a moment of Hook's silence.

He opened his eyes slowly, and weighed Emma. He seemed to take her in fully for the first time, as more than just some girl selling a horse, a girl who'd lost her mother. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, Emma didn't know. Either way, a second later he'd turned her back on her and was speaking. "In exchange for your assistance in killing him."

Emma replied without hesitation. "Done."

Hook turned around and eyed her again, eyes closed off. "Then you have yourself a deal. Smee!"

"Yes Cap'n?" Smee appeared out of thin air; Emma was surprised she didn't seem him beforehand, what with his magnificently bright red cap.

"Find Ms. Charming a cot to sleep on and a pair of pants, then bring her to me." He gave Emma a look that made her stomach feel like molten lava. "We've much to discuss."

* * *

 

Emma stared at herself in the mirror. Hook had allowed her to use his cabin to change in, and although she felt as if she were taking too long, she couldn't help but use a few quiet moments to gather herself.

At the moment, she looked like a pirate. Smee had found a pair of brown leather pants that were loose and long, but were better than holding up the skirt of a dress. The skirt came right off, leaving her with the beige top, which only came to just above her hips. Luckily she had her cloak, which came in handy on the windy ship—even in the Captain's quarters she was cold.

Moving from the mirror, where her wide green eyes questioned her judgment, Emma looked out the wall of windows, where land beckoned. The sea was beautiful—from afar. Cold and blue, smelling thickly of salt and musk—though perhaps the musk was coming from the crew—the ocean was no place for a girl like Emma. She felt less at ease than she ever had before. Once there was solid ground under her feet again she was sure she'd feel better, but until then, she knew she would be on edge. Especially with that Captain around.

"Ms. Charming, I suggest you hurry it along," came Mr. Smee's anxious, narrow voice. Emma took another look at the ocean, feeling safer with the wall of glass between her and it, before hurrying out of the quarters.

"Here," Emma breathed, tugging her cloak close to her body. _If only Dad could see me now_ , she thought, but quickly retracted that. She wasn't sure she would want him to see her, for he would certainly hold sadness and disappointment in his gaze.

"That's odd," Mr. Smee noted, and Emma looked up. "We appear to be being followed."

Emma looked to where Mr. Smee's gaze was pointing, but couldn't tell if he was right or not. Now, silhouetted against the land, there was a large ship headed in their direction. Narrowing her eyes, Emma could just make out the sail. When she did, her stomach did an uneasy flip.

It was Blackbeard's ship.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma makes a deal.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**Unwittingly Purchased**

 

**The Lucky Lady's Tavern, Twenty Years Prior**

"I know what I have to do, but it doesn't make any of this any easier," a woman in a dark green cloak intoned, clutching a tankard in her grip angrily. Her friend, a brunette with an intense look about her, nodded in consolation.

"How did you know she has light magic?" The friend asked, leaning in closer so that only the other woman would hear her. Unfortunately, she'd misjudged her tone, and there were ears _everywhere_.

Sitting on the other side of the green-cloaked woman was an older woman in a long black cloak. She huddled into herself, as if too weak to sit straight. In the thin yellow light that illuminated what little of her features could be seen, her skin looked a sick, yellow color. Her nose was large and hooked, her skin sagging around the cheeks and eyes. Her hair was grey and scraggly, probably hadn't been washed in days. She appeared to be minding her own business, but it was simply a ploy.

She was there to kill the bandit Snow White, the woman in the dark green cloak. Her spies had tipped her off that the bandit had planned to renege on the deal they'd made two years ago, planned to take back her kingdom. Well, Regina couldn't have any of that. _She would have to break the deal first and slaughter the bitch where she stood._ But something stopped her—talk of Snow White's child.

A toddler, the product of true love. One that would be able to defeat the Evil Queen.

"The _Dark One_ found me," Snow spat the name out, taking another swig of her drink. "He told me what I already know; the kingdom is falling apart under Regina's rule. I have to save it. But…it's not my place. It's Emma's."

The other woman took in a breath. "But…she's just a _baby_ ," she intoned, sounding appalled.

"I know," Snow replied ruefully. "He told me that, until she gained her bravery, her courage, the Evil Queen would not be defeated. Emma is the only one who can defeat her…but not until she's older."

Regina had had enough of what she was hearing. She would find the brat, destroy her before she had the chance to grow up and dethrone the Queen. Removing her disguise as she left the tavern, Regina called upon one of her lackeys. "Bring me to the shepherd's farm."

Oblivious to the Evil Queen's intentions, Snow White and her friend continued speaking.

"I don't know what I would tell David…or Ruth. I hate that it has to be this way, Red." Sighing, Snow tipped back her tankard and downed the rest of her drink. She needed to start heading out—where, she didn't know, but wherever she needed to go, she needed to start going.

"We'll stay in contact," Red promised quickly, grasping Snow's hand in her gloved one. "I'll watch them from a distance."

Snow shook her head. "I don't know. I couldn't ask that of you, and I don't know if I could handle living vicariously through some letters. And…the Dark One said that if I have _any_ part in her life, she'll never have what it takes to destroy the Queen."

"I'm not judging you," Red exhaled. "But I will write to you anyways. Even if you never read the letters, I know you'll feel better having them."

Snow closed her eyes, holding back tears. But in the end, she nodded. She could handle the letters. She would probably even need them, to get through, to hold out for however long it took. Without another word, Snow disappeared into the night.

At the back of the tavern, a flash of silver glittered in the darkness.

* * *

 

Regina observed the filth and squalor the family lived in with utter distaste. It was _pathetic_ , what Snow White chose to live with. If she had to live such a life, she would've simply killed herself and ended the misery. Sneering in disgust, the Evil Queen stalked towards the cottage. Searching the pitifully bare living room, she looked around for the bandit's offspring.

There was the shepherd, sleeping on a dirty cot near the entrance to a different room. Huddled in his arms was a small child, no longer than her father's arm, with a crop of golden blonde hair sprouting from her scalp. Her face was peaceful in sleep, the innocence of childhood, the sweet scent of dreams, wafted around her. The Evil Queen snorted loathingly.

 _This will be too easy,_ she thought, reaching forward to touch the child. Just as her fingers were grazing the child's smooth forehead, Regina leaped backwards, holding back a shout of pain. Her right hand, the hand she'd been reaching with, was blackened and unmoving. There was no more pain, no feeling, just a limp, vague notion of deadness in the appendage. Quickly, Regina let a wave of healing magic pass through the hand—it didn't work.

 _I'll fix it later_ , she decided tersely, her anger spiking as she glared at the still sleeping infant. So, she couldn't touch the child? _No matter,_ she thought as she conjured a ball of crackling flames in her palm. She moved quickly, noticing that the shepherd was waking—he'd be engulfed in the flames as well, but that was no worry of Regina's what was one extra casualty, anyways?

Throwing the ball of flames, Regina screamed again, and ducked as the ball of flames came hurtling back at her.

"What the hell?!" the Shepherd exclaimed, shielding his daughter from the flames. Regina was quick to throw a sleeping spell his direction, but it didn’t affect the baby. She started crying, and held her father close. Regina fled the cottage, staring at her hands in anger.

"I wouldn't try that again, dearie," a pompous voice remarked. Regina snarled, whirling around to face the imp that had appeared out of thin air.

"Rumplestiltskin! What did you _do_?" Regina demanded.

"There's nothing I did," He replied immediately, looking at Regina in mock offense. "That child is pure; she's innocent in every way that…well, you _aren't_."

Regina sneered down at him. "And what am _I_?" She wanted to know.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. His smile was as thick as slime, as greasy as a toad. "You're soul is blackened, my dear. Just like your hand. " His eyes narrowed, and his words became daggers launched sadistically at the Evil Queen. "You won't lay a _finger_ on that child's head. Not for years, not until she loses some of that precious innocence." He giggled, snapped his fingers, and was gone in a flash. After a moment, the Evil Queen followed suit.

* * *

 

Back in her castle, Regina paced the length of her throne room.

"A child with light magic," she mused. "One that I cannot harm in any way. It's no matter," Regina turned her back to the nearest wall, paced through the dark, threatening castle, until she was in her potion's room. She'd just need to make a potion that would preserve her youth, so when she once again met Snow White, with her daughter in tow this time, she'd be _better_ in every way.

"No," she whispered. "I don't need a potion…you!" Regina called forward the nearest Black Knight, who came hustling into the room as if his life depended on it. "Bring me the prettiest handmaiden in the castle. Now!"

 _Yes_ , she thought, _I'll take the life force from as many girls as it takes, for as long as it takes. For as long as it takes for me to get my revenge._

* * *

 

**Now**

Smee, of course, immediately told Hook of his theory that they were being tailed by Blackbeard. Hook dismissed the idea initially, but after an hour of being steadily followed, he recanted his initial assumption that Smee was full of it.

"What kind of deal, exactly, did you make with Blackbeard?" Hook wanted to know. He'd been pacing the top deck of the Jolly Roger for the past half hour, alternately glaring at Emma and demanding things of Smee. He acted as if this were all _Emma's_ fault.

"I didn't make any deal," Emma explained, placing a hand on her hip. "He said he would take me to the Dark One, that he'd be docked until noon the next day if I decided to come with him." She spoke confidently, without inflection, yet there was a small seed of doubt festering in her stomach.

Glancing back at the ocean, Emma stared at the approaching pirate ship. It wasn't getting any closer—Hook had assured Emma that the Jolly Roger was the fastest ship on the sea—but it was following at a steady distance. Not gaining ground, not losing ground, simply tailing. And Emma couldn't help but look back on her conversation with Blackbeard and question his eagerness to assist her. What _was_ his ulterior motive? Surely he didn't benefit from Emma dethroning Queen Regina. So what did he gain?

There hadn't been mention of money at any one point; he hadn't insinuated Emma would have to pay him for passage, nothing had come up about any favors in return for taking Emma to the Dark One. So why would he offer her assistance, out of the apparent goodness of his heart?

There was only one explanation; Blackbeard either was gaining something from Emma defeating the Evil Queen—and Emma couldn't come up with anything a pirate like Blackbeard would gain from a change in monarchial leaders—or he'd been bluffing the entire time, and had plan that wasn't so beneficial to Emma.

"You're lying," Hook intoned, advancing towards Emma quickly. Emma looked up, biting her lip in thought. "Or you aren't telling the whole truth."

"Something _does_ seem fishy about his wanting to help," Emma admitted, then went on to explain the discussion they'd had. When she was finished, Hook appeared to be deliberating.

"What I don't understand," Emma continued, narrowing her eyes on the approaching ship. "Is why he would want me to come aboard his ship. What does he want from me?" _I'm just a humble shepherd's daughter._

"Well, we might as well find out," Hook intoned. "Charming, follow—"

"Swan," Emma interjected quickly. "Don't call me Charming, it's Emma Swan now." She did this for two reasons; the first being that she didn't think she could handle hearing her last name, her tie to her father and family, tossed about frequently while she neglected her family. The second being that, if something were to happen and her plan(which at that point in time wasn't a plan so much as a general idea of what Emma wanted to happen) failed, she didn't want her father or grandmother to be drawn into her mess.

She didn't know why she chose Swan; she'd always loved the majestic birds, their grace and elegance. Emma supposed that she wanted that for herself, wanted to be graceful, majestic. In truth, she was simply an ugly duckling, stumbling and bumbling about, with no real course of action to follow.

"All right, Swan," Hook substituted, nodding like he understood her reasoning without her having to even tell him. And she supposed that, of anyone, he might understand the most, considering he was known under the moniker of Hook. Emma didn't think she'd ever heard his real name— _Hook_ probably hadn't heard his real name in a while, either. "Follow me to my cabin. Smee, drop anchor."

* * *

 

Emma stared at the quickly approaching ship through the large windows. It was advancing eagerly, dwarfing the view of the sea as it drew closer and closer. Hook didn't speak for several minutes as he rifled through his things. Emma listened cautiously as she heard metal clash against metal, papers fluttering, and heavy items thumping around. Finally, Hook appeared to have what he was looking for. He turned towards Emma, a dangerous-looking grin on his face.

 _Dangerous for my heart, that is,_ Emma thought, recognizing that her heart wasn't beating so fast from nerves of facing Blackbeard.

"Have you any idea what to do with this?" Hook asked, handing the sword to Emma hilt-first.

Emma took it with a smirk, testing the balance easily—it was a little blade-heavy, but if it was the best he could come up with, it would do. The blade was slightly curved, dingy, and didn't look very sharp. The hilt was dingy as well, some kind of coppery metal, and looked as if it hadn't been polished in a decade.

"My father taught me the basics," Emma replied, recalling her many evenings as a young girl outside the barn with her father, Ruth watching nervously as she tended to the sheep.

Her muscles would ache afterwards, she never had the right form it seemed, and she was too slow in all regards. But he was a patient teacher, and Emma had picked it up eventually. _No daughter of mine will live without learning how to sword fight properly_ , he would say. Ruth would just laugh at him, saying that Emma was much better than he when David was her age, and it took a woman named Joan to change that.

Emma sometimes wondered if this 'Joan' woman was her mother, but the timing never fit.

"Aye," Hook intoned, weighing his own sword. "Well if it comes down to it, hopefully 'the basics' will be sufficient."

Emma nodded in agreement. Then she sighed. She never should have started this adventure.

"Something bothering you, love?" Hook asked, catching on to her sigh. Emma looked down at her feet, heard Hook drawing closer, but didn't look up.

"Other than jumping on the wrong pirate ship, only to have the other pirate ship start chasing me? Just peachy," Emma replied, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, well, nothing we can do about that now," Emma looked up, surprised that Hook was so close—within a foot of Emma. He was wearing a devilish grin, looking down at her through his lashes. "It's a pirate's life for you, Emma Swan."

Emma never got the chance to reply. A second later, Smee was shouting down to the Captain that Blackbeard was preparing to board. Hook gave Emma one last significant look before he turned and stalked out of the cabin. Emma waited a moment, and followed behind him.

She blinked quickly against the brighter outside light. After a few more blinks, her eyes adjusted, and she eyed the scene unfolding before her warily.

Blackbeard had indeed boarded the ship, taking along with him half a dozen of the largest men Emma had ever seen. All were tattooed to varying degrees, had scraggly hair or greasy beards, and were sporting terrifyingly dangerous looks. Blackbeard stood in the middle of them, five feet away from Captain Hook, who was staring down the intruder.

"Why have you been following my ship?" Hook demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

Blackbeard cleared his throat, narrowed eyes scanning the deck. When he spotted Emma, he cocked his head and smiled.

"You have something of mine. A girl, as it would happen. Emma Charming."

 _I never told him my name,_ Emma realized. So how did he know it? "I'm not any one's," Emma negated, stalking forward so that she stood next to Hook.

"You can hand her over," Blackbeard continued as if Emma had never spoken. "Or I can take her."

"You can try," Emma taunted. Those, apparently, were the wrong words. Not a second after they left her mouth she was regretting them, because as soon as they left her lips, at least a dozen more pirates crossed from Blackbeard's ship onto Hook's.

And that's when the fighting started. Emma glanced around quickly, ready to participate—but turning her back from Blackbeard for one second was a dire mistake. She never got a chance to show her skill in sword fighting. A second after her back was turned, she felt something hard ram into the back of her skull. The last thing she saw before passing out completely was the quickly approaching deck of the Jolly Roger.

* * *

 

Emma blinked slowly, attempting to overcome the pain of waking up with a throbbing skull. It felt as if someone had—well, as if someone had smacked her on the back of her head with the hilt of a very heavy sword. What little sunlight that was streaming through some dirty window reached her eyes, making the pain a thousand times worse. Emma rolled onto her side to be free from the light, when she realized that she was lying on a hard wooden floor.

And she wasn't alone.

"Finally awakening, I see," came a soft, feminine voice from somewhere opposite Emma. "I thought for sure you weren't going to come to until morning."

Emma struggled to sit upright, discovered that there was a wall behind her, and managed to prop herself against that. From there came the task of opening her eyes—slowly at first, and then blinking, she managed to take in the room around her. She was in the brig of a ship. Blackbeard's ship, presumably.

It didn't look as filthy as it smelled; the floor was, mercifully, cleaned and mostly dirt-free. The window opposite the cell Emma was in was a port hole looking out towards the ocean. Illuminated in the light was a womanly figure. Though her cloak's hood shrouded her face in darkness, Emma could tell the woman was probably only a few years older than Emma by her youthful voice.

After a moment, the woman stepped into the light, removing her hood so that Emma could see her face. Emma had been right about the age—she looked to be in her late twenties, probably wasn't even twenty-nine yet. Her eyes were as green as grass, and when they focused on Emma, there was a hardened look to them. Her hair was as black as coal, her skin as white as snow, and her lips as red as a rose. Emma thought she was beautiful.

"What's going on?" Emma inquired, standing on shaky legs.

The other woman looked towards the door. Emma could heard heavy footsteps approaching. "You've been purchased by the Evil Queen. Follow my lead, I'm going to get you out of here," the woman promised, before quickly slipping her hood back on, just as the door opened.

Emma's heart began to stutter. Blackbeard entered the brig, a sleazy grin on his face. Emma glanced back at the woman who'd just promised her that she would help Emma escape—but she had disappeared.

Blackbeard came to a sudden halt directly in front of where Emma stood. He hadn't taken any of his lackey's along with him, and Emma wondered what he needed to say that required solitude. She was just about to ask what the Evil Queen needed her for when, out of the blue, the hooded woman stepped out from behind a pillar, clutching a sword in her hand. Before Emma could voice her surprise, the woman had hammered the hilt of the knife soundly against Blackbeard's skull, loud enough to make a thumping noise.

Blackbeard looked confused—and then he was unconscious.

Emma stared at the hooded woman—only her white-toothed grin was visible.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" The woman asked, sounding excited as she searched Blackbeard's pockets for the key to the cell. "Let's go!"


	5. Charming Suits You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gains an ally.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**Charming Suits You**

_Emma stared at the hooded woman—only her white-toothed grin was visible._

_"Well? What are you waiting for?" The woman asked, sounding excited as she searched Blackbeard's pockets for the key to the cell. "Let's go!"_

Emma didn't need to be told twice. As soon as her mysterious rescuer opened up the cell door, she bolted out, gathering her cloak around her as she stepped over Blackbeard's unconscious body. He snorted, causing Emma to jump in surprise, but didn't wake up. Emma breathed a sigh of relief, and followed her savior through the brig to where Blackbeard had just come in from.

"Follow my lead," the stranger said again, glancing back at Emma. Emma felt the woman's gaze linger a moment, but then she turned away and started up the stairs to the main deck.

Emma's heart jumped, and she took a moment at the base of the stairs to collect herself. "Who are you?" Emma asked in wonder. "Why are you helping me?"

"Shh, shh," the woman pressed a finger to her lips, "My name is Snow White. Follow my lead, I'll get you out of here," Snow White promised, and rushed up the stairs.

Emma shook herself, recognizing the name as the bandit the Evil Queen was searching for the night of the ransacking. She hesitated, but in the end her desire to escape outweighed her mistrust of the bandit. And anyways, the enemy of your enemy was your friend…right? Emma trampled up the steps, as loud as a bull, tripping over her cloak as she hunched over to make up the ground between her and Snow White.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Snow White hesitated before she opened up the door. She glanced back at Emma, a step below her.

"Here, take this," Snow said, handing Emma a dagger that was about the length of her forearm. Emma started to protest, but Snow cut her off. "I've got my own," she spoke over Emma, revealing the short sword at her hip. Emma nodded, and they pushed through the door.

It wasn't as bright out as Emma imagined at first; it was closer to the late evening than the afternoon. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, staining the sky a salmon pink bordering on orange. Whatever Snow White planned on doing, she had better get to it, otherwise they would be trying to escape without the light of the sun.

The bandit held her head low, so Emma did the same, focusing on the wood slats of the ship's deck rather than the bustling pirates around her. She stepped where Snow White Stepped, breathed as quietly as possible, and gave it her all to remain silent.

It wasn't enough.

"Stop! The prisoner is escaping!" Rang a high-pitched, rather squeaky, voice from above. Emma looked up quickly, and saw that the nearest three pirates were advancing towards the pair. They were all bigger and stronger than Emma, and had more years under the belts fighting than Emma did. But if there was one thing that had stuck with Emma about sword fighting, it was that being lighter and smaller than most of her opponents could be a good thing.

It seemed that Emma's companion had already figured out this bit of sword fighting knowledge. While Emma stared, she ducked under the swing of a pirate's sword, dodged a blow from a pirate without a weapon, and gestured for Emma to follow her. All the while, Emma had been standing there dumbfounded at the scene unfolding before her.

"Don't harm the prisoner!" The squeaky voice ordered from above. A pair of the brutes turned towards Emma and started advancing.

Emma engaged the closest one at once, thought she needed to put herself within a foot of him to do it. She attacked quickly, cutting his forearm while he tried to grab her, and then leaping away while his thick and dirty arms clutched at empty air. Emma drew him closer to the edge of the ship, where Snow White was in battle-mode, fighting off two gangly opponents and one gargantuan one at once.

"Got you!" The nearest pirate exclaimed in triumph, grabbing Emma's long blonde hair by the end. She was jerked backwards, lifted up by the waist so that her feet dangled over the deck. Emma screamed, mentally prepared herself, and then thrust her had back against the man's face—the sickening crunch that she felt more than heard almost made her throw up, but she was ready when he dropped her.

Emma wasted no time sprinting to the aid of Snow White. She didn't know why, but she already felt a sort of kinship towards the bandit, as if there was a string attached to the two of them, pulling Emma closer, urging Emma to help the other woman out while she battled the three pirates.

Emma inserted herself into the quick of things, and used her shorter stature to thrust the dagger she'd been given into the calf of the nearest pirate—he shouted, dropped his sword and fell down. Emma wasted no time kicking his sword away from him—the calf must hurt, but she didn't want to overestimate the recuperating time of pirates.

"Jump!" Snow White exclaimed, and Emma jumped in place, much to the amusement of Snow. "Over the side!" Emma glanced back at the bandit, and saw the tail end of her cloak as she catapulted herself over the edge of the deck.

 _I can't swim_ , Emma thought, stomach flipping at her current juxtaposition of being between a rock and a hard place. Emma saw Snow White's head popping up above the surface of the water, and Emma wondered what the hell was her deal. Why had she jumped off? But then Emma saw it—a mermaid.

Taking a leap of faith, Emma climbed up onto the railing and leapt off, at the same moment a pirate grabbed the end of her cloak.

There was a moment she hung in the balance. Weightless, she was floating in the air. But then gravity caught up with her; her cloak slipped free from her shoulders, and her body slipped free from suspension. She plummeted into the ocean, face first, and blacked out almost immediately.

* * *

 

Emma was blind.

"She's waking up," Emma heard a light-hearted voice exclaim. Emma groaned, blinked her eyes, and awoke for the second time in a day in an unfamiliar setting. There was gritty sand covering her back, up to her shoulders. Her shirt was hiked all the way up to just below her breasts, but her brain felt to fuzzy to muster up the motions of pulling it back down. Rolling over to her side, Emma spat out what tasted like a giant lump of salt.

"How are you feeling?" A woman asked slowly, as if talking to an infant. Emma coughed, and didn't stop coughing until she felt like she was missing a lung. When all of the water was cleared, she sat up, pressing her sandy hands to her forehead. She blinked again, and realized that she wasn't blind.

It was nighttime, and she was sitting on a beach. The starry expanse of sky was directly above her. There was no obstruction to her view; no land or ships in any direction. Emma wondered why Blackbeard hadn't pursued them, wondered who the mermaid was, where Snow White was, where _she_ was.

"Snow?" Emma croaked, coughed again to clear her throat.

"Here," Snow White replied, somewhere to Emma's right.

"I have to go, but I will be back soon," the stranger spoke. Emma could make out the vague outline of her shape, briefly before she dived back into the sea.

"Who was that?" Emma muttered, bending herself so that her head was between her knees. Her brain felt like it was swimming in a pool of muck.

"A friend," Snow White replied simply. Emma felt her settle down to her right, but didn't glance up at the bandit. "The bigger question here is who are _you_ , and why does the Evil Queen want you?"

Emma sighed. "My name is Emma, Emma Ch—Swan." Emma coughed to hide her slip up, didn't spare a glance towards the woman before she continued. "I have no idea why the Evil—"

"What did you say your name was?" Snow demanded abruptly. Emma glanced over at her, but couldn't make out her features quite yet. She knew she was being studied by the bandit, however, and fidgeted under her gaze.

"Emma Swan," Emma repeated more firmly. The woman was silent, so Emma decided to continue her explanation. "I haven't done anything—" _yet_ "—to the Evil Queen. Why did you help me?"

Snow White stared at Emma. Emma could only just make out the shape of her rounded face, the paleness of her skin, but was really starting to feel unnerved. What was with this lady? There had to be a reason she was a bandit—and Emma would know the answer to that if her father and grandmother had been more forthcoming with information.

"Emma," Snow breathed, and Emma felt her hand touch her face. Emma would've jerked backwards if she had had the energy to, but as she was, she simply leaned back away from the hand and hope Snow would stop. Snow White cleared her throat, and let her hand drop.

"I had bartered passage on Blackbeard's ship a couple of days ago, for him to take me to Arendelle. But he was sidetracked by an offer he couldn't refuse; you in exchange for his life, plus a generous sack of gold. I've been stowed away on his ship for the past day, waiting to help you." Snow White paused her story to grin. "It's amazing how infrequently Blackbeard checks his brig for stowaways."

"But wait, why would you help me? You don't even know me?" By then, Emma was almost able to make out most of Snow's features. Snow looked hesitant.

"I have suffered," Snow started, her voice soft, "at the hands of the Evil Queen for far too long. I didn't want that to be your fate as well. Even though I don't—I don't even know you, I would not wish my fate upon anyone. When I heard that Regina had hired Blackbeard to kidnap you, I couldn't just idly sit by, couldn't continue on to Arendelle knowing it was within my power to help an innocent young girl escape having her life sucked from her to fuel the Evil Queen's quest for—for _beauty_ and youth," Snow White sneered. Emma stared, confused by her words, yet entranced by the hauntingly familiar shape of her eye.

Snow White glanced over at Emma, and seemed to get lost within herself for a moment.

"Tell me," Snow encouraged, leaning towards Emma, "What are you doing out here, Emma Swan? Why were you on that pirate ship with Captain Hook, one of the most dangerous pirates on the sea?"

Emma furrowed her brow, the question bringing forth a few concerns of her own. Namely, what had happened after she'd been knocked out? Emma couldn't see a situation where Blackbeard got a hand up on Captain Hook; she hadn't even _heard_ of Blackbeard before, while Captain Hook was nearly a household name—and not in a good way. All knew of the danger surrounding that name, the threat of that gleaming silver hook. How had Blackbeard beaten him?

"The _Queen_ ," Emma spoke scathingly, "ransacked my house, looking for you actually. I don't know why, but there is just a…a gut feeling in me that I need to be the one to defeat her. I can't just let her continue destroying my—I mean, our kingdom. Honestly, I don't even think it was the ransacking of my house that was the final straw. When I learned of her plans to take Arendelle by force, I just knew I had to do something." Emma just wished she hadn't had to leave her father and grandmother behind in the process.

The bandit was silent, leaving Emma alone to her thoughts. She was concerned for her family. She knew that David would try something, try to rescue her, or find her. Emma just hoped that Ruth would talk sense in to him before he did something that would bring more danger to him than Emma felt she was worth.

"What of your family?" Snow asked hesitatingly. Emma didn't know what to make of the question.

"What about my family?"

"What are they doing in your absence? Your father? Mother? Siblings?"

"It's just my father, grandmother, and me. My mother left when I was very young. I don't know what has happened to them. I only hope that they're all right," Emma explained, looking guiltily at her hands. She knew the decision to overthrow the Queen was the right one, but that didn't mean she felt free of guilt for making the decision. Emma took a deep breath and waited for judgment to come—it was what she deserved, for abandoning her family.

Instead, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Looking up, Emma met the bandit's eyes. Snow White didn't say anything for a while, but she kept her hand on Emma's shoulder. Emma wasn't accustomed to strangers being so informal, but in a way it felt…right. Almost natural. So she allowed it, even relaxed into it a bit.

Her eyes were starting to drift shut, and she was leaning further and further on her elbows, into the sand, when Snow White started talking again. Emma gave a jolt, startled, but woke herself up enough to listen to what the bandit was saying.

"My mother died when I was very young," Snow White told Emma softly. "She was an amazing woman; beautiful, intelligent in every way, and kind. My father and I adored her. I never thought—" she sucked in a quick breath of air. "I never thought that I could ever manage a tenth of her greatness.

"I often wonder what she would think of me now; a bandit, on the run from the Evil Queen, abandoning my f—friends in a quest for revenge. I have so many regrets, Emma, that if I ever focused on them, I doubt I would make it very far. Life isn't about worrying about your regrets. It isn't about letting the guilt gnaw away at you until you are but a shell. Life is about—"

"Moments," Emma supplied, remembering something along the same thread that her father once said to her. "Making the best of the little moments in life that are good, special, important."

Snow smiled, a tender smile that reminded her of her grandmother. She reached over and brushed a bit of hair away that had fallen into Emma's face in an almost maternal gesture. "Charming suits you, Emma," Snow White told her in a fond voice.

"How did you—" Emma's question was interrupted, however, when the mermaid came walking up on shore, shouting that she was ready to take Snow White back.

"Our paths will cross again soon," Snow White promised, standing quickly. "Keep your eye on your goals, Emma, and don't let anyone fool you into turning back."

"But I don't—"

"One more thing; remember all the evil caused by the Queen," Snow White spoke coolly, an edge to her voice. "Remember what she plans on doing. And _don't fail_."

And with that, the bandit jumped into the water with the mermaid, and together they swam out of Emma's sight. So lost in her own thoughts, thinking about what Snow White had said, it took Emma nearly half an hour to realize one thing.

She'd been stranded.


	6. Correspondences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David reminisces and seeks out assistance.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

 

**Correspondences**

David stared down at the piece of paper in his hands. His heart was heavy in his chest as he thought of his daughter, his beautiful baby girl with her bright, intelligent green eyes and a proclivity for getting herself into trouble. But David had always been around to pull her out of that trouble.

He could remember the first time Emma had gotten herself into a mess that she couldn’t talk, or smile, or charm her way out of. They had gone into town to pick up some butter and a bushel of apples, as well as a few other ingredients, so that Ruth could make an apple pie for David's birthday. David had been distracted, trying to pick out the best apples from the market stall, and hadn't been paying much attention to Emma. So he hadn't noticed her looking at the pastries through the glass of the pastry shop window with longing eyes.

David had just paid the merchant for the apples when he heard shouting. Instantly, his eyes went to his hip, where Emma was usually holding onto him by the tail of his shirt. She wasn't there.

Whirling around, he'd dropped the cloth bag holding the apples and looked through the crowd of people, trying to spot the little blonde head bobbing through the people. Not seeing anything, he ran into the crowd, towards the commotion, and started calling her name. When he spotted her in the door of the pastry shop, his heart finally calmed down. Striding towards her, he picked up the tail end of the conversation, and managed to figure out what was going on.

"Do you have money to pay for that, little miss?" The pastry chef had asked. He was a stout man, with a round belly that betrayed his love of sweets.

There was a mumble in response, the words muffled by a mouth filled with a chocolate cupcake, as it would happen.

"Where is your mother? Do you think she would be _proud_ to know her daughter was a little thief?" The chef continued, a sharp edge to his voice. There came a response, this time muffled by tears. David's heart broke a little right then, and reached his daughter at the same time that the waterworks came.

"Emma!" David exclaimed, looking down at the morose little girl with chocolate frosting smeared across her face, eyes bright red and brimming with tears.

"Is this your daughter, sir?" The chef asked. Scooping Emma up, he cradled her head against his shoulder.

"Yes," responded David. "What's going on? Why is she crying?" David had asked, his protective instinct flaring despite the fact that he knew exactly what Emma had done, and she wasn't an innocent victim here. It didn't matter; the only thing that mattered was that someone was making his Emma cry, and he had to fix it.

"Your daughter," the chef said, his voice booming, "thinks she's clever enough to steal from me in front of my own customers! She tricked my wife—tried distracting her by saying that she had lost her family and was wondering if she could get a glass of water while she waited to be found. While my wife was in the back, the little thief grabbed a cupcake and ran off! She would have gotten away with it, too, if I hadn't been seeing to a customer by the door!"

David glanced at his daughter on his shoulder, her muffled sobs wetting his shoulder. He would have to deal with her stealing at home—the market wasn't the place to talk to her about stealing.

In the end, he'd ended up purchasing the cupcake she'd stolen, and didn't have enough money left over to buy the butter, and it took another month for David to trust Emma enough to let her go to the market.

That wasn't then end of her troublemaking, however, it was just the beginning. And all David could do now was hope that this adventure of hers wasn't the _end._

"David?" A weak voice called out from her bedroom. David took a steadying breath, stood up, and walked into his mother's room. She started coughing, a wet, ratcheting cough, that made David's insides churn. He felt like he was being pulled in two different directions; at the same time he wanted, _needed,_ to go off and rescue his daughter, he had to stay home and take care of his ailing mother.

"Are you all right?" David asked, rushing to his mother's side. She held out her hand, and he picked it up. It felt clammy in his own hand, but that didn't stop him from rubbing it with his thumb.

Ruth coughed again, and David helped her sit up so that her breathing would come easier. "Are you sending that to Emma?" She asked, nodding her head towards the piece of paper in David's hand. David glanced down at it, too, as if forgetting that he was holding it. Looking back up, he nodded.

Ruth produced a letter of her own. Placing it, folded, into David's hand, she smiled.

"Don't read it, just make sure it gets to her," Ruth pleaded, before dissolving into another fit of coughing.

David smoothed back her hair form her forehead and kissed it. "I promise."

* * *

 

 Outside, David walked to the edge of the forest that surrounded his fields. Glancing around, he sighed. Of course she wouldn't be there _this_ time.

"David," Red spoke. David gave a start, and glanced up at the woman who had watched his home, his daughter, for as long as she'd been alive.

"Red," David greeted, nodding. "Can you find Emma?"

Red simply stared at him, looking into his very soul with those emerald green eyes that reminded him so much of his daughter's, of his…

"Yes," Red replied, cutting off his thoughts before they went down a path that would only bring him more misery. "I can find her."

"Will you look after her? Make sure she's safe?"

Red eyed him, her expression a mix between pity and kindness. "I've already been asked to. I was heading out to find her anyways."

David nodded and, feeling as if a spear had skewered him through the chest, held out the letters, not taking a step closer to enter the forest. Red stalked up to him in that intimidating walk of hers, pried the letters from his unrelenting hand, and looked them over without opening them. She studied him for a moment, studied the cottage, and then nodded.

"I'll see to it that these find her," She promised, tucking them into a pocket. And like that, she disappeared back into the forest without so much as a backwards glance.

David pressed a hand to his chest, his heart a fraction lighter than it'd been. Turning, he hurried back to the cottage, knowing that wherever she was, Emma wouldn't be alone for very much longer.

* * *

 

 Snow left her daughter stranded on the island, and it was killing her. Yes, Snow knew that in the morning there would be a routine trading ship passing by that would pass by close enough to see Emma. But still…she had left her _daughter_ stranded on an _island_. And there was no doubt, in her mind, that Emma Ch-Swan was her daughter, Emma Charming. Why she had picked the name Swan, Snow couldn't understand. But because of it, everything was falling into place.

Just like the Dark One said it would.

A hundred thousand times, Snow had questioned the sanity of her decision to allow her daughter to grow up without a mother, without _Snow_ around so that Regina would be overthrown. Every night she dreamed of abandoning her family, as if she had to make the decision all over again. Every morning she awoke in a cold sweat, begging the world to let her go back, remake the decision. This time she would _fight_ for her daughter, _fight_ for her husband. This time she would make the _right_ choice.

But you can't turn back time, and she would never be given another opportunity to choose her family over her kingdom, over her quest for revenge.

And it _killed_ Snow.

And it _killed_ Snow even more that the young woman she'd just rescued from a pirate, the young woman who couldn't swim, who spoke so calmly about her sense of duty towards her kingdom. Who could share the pain of losing a mother with Snow. Who felt as if she'd been thrown away by her mother—Emma hadn't needed to say anything, Snow could see it on her face that she felt as if she'd been discarded. And yet, she still had hope. She spoke of making the most of the moments in life, of fighting for her people and her family.

Emma was exactly the person Snow had always hoped she would become. And she got that way without the presence of a mother in her life.

And that tore Snow's heart to shreds. Even though Snow was the one who'd stranded Emma—the one who _abandoned_ her _daughter_ yet again, for the second time—Snow had never felt more alone in her life.

* * *

 

Emma was stranded and alone, huddling into herself for warmth on the cold island night. It wasn't even an island—more like an outcropping of land in the middle of the vast ocean that had a few trees and plenty of dry driftwood to its name.

It had only taken her a minute and a half to walk the entire length of it, less than that to walk the width. She'd thought about hiding behind a tree for respite from the wind, but then she wouldn't even have a _chance_ of being spotted by any ship that passed by. So she huddled, glancing to and fro, hoping her salvation would come in the form of any sort of ship—even an enemy ship that would be set on bringing her to the Evil Queen. She had escaped once before, right? Never mind that that was with some assistance.

Emma stared out at the open ocean, almost hoping that Snow White and the mermaid would turn back, remember her, say it was all just a joke. They hadn't _meant_ to strand her; it had to be a misunderstanding.

But it wasn't. So Emma stood up, gathering a big enough pile of the dry driftwood to potentially start a fire, and broke off two thin sticks the length of her forearm from the nearest tree. David had taught her, once, a while ago when she was younger, how to start a fire with only sticks and wood. Emma just hoped that her limited knowledge of fire-starting without flint would be enough.

Half an hour later, and further into the chilly night, Emma was still having no luck. Throwing down the sticks in aggravation, she stared at the pile of wood, as if by sheer will she could make a fire.

And to her surprise, it worked.

Emma shrieked as the fire popped and crackled to life, the wood bursting into flames as if an explosion had gone off. Her heart raced, but her mind stuttered. How had the fire simply…appeared? When Emma willed it to appear…?

Emma didn't want to think on it, so she wasn't going to think on it. For the moment, she decided, she would simply be grateful that it appeared and hope it didn't die off before the morning. Huddling close to the crackling warmth, Emma curled up, and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

 "Miss…?" Emma gave a start as she was shaken awake. A young male was staring down at her, who was probably no older than Emma. His expression was worried, and his voice was shaking—as if he were both frightened for her and of her.

"Emma Swan," Emma introduced herself. She glanced around the island—and gasped. Whatever trees and driftwood were on the island when she fell asleep, were gone now. The island was burning, and Emma had a feeling it was her own fault.

"Miss Emma Swan, would you like an escort to the nearest port?" The boy asked politely. Emma glanced back at him and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

And that was how, hours later, she found herself walking the streets of the port city. She had thanked the captain of the trading vessel profusely for his kindness and hospitality. She would have offered him her spare coins, if she hadn't of lost them with her cloak in the ocean. As it was, she found her stomach grumbling with hunger, and with nothing to pay for food with…Emma would have to resort to less acceptable methods of finding food.

Her min was everywhere at once as she wandered through the crowded markets of Marion Square—as she found the place was called. She couldn't focus on any one thing, because there were so many issues fighting for dominance in her head. There was the issue of finding food and shelter for the night, not to mention the strangeness of the fire, or the unfortunate loss of transportation for her quest.

Emma still needed to find the Dark One, to convince him to face Regina, to overthrow the evil monarch. Emma twisted the ring on her finger sadly, knowing that she would have to give it up in order to purchase the Dark One's assistance. It hurt her, but—"

"Emma Charming," a sultry voice interrupted her thoughts. Emma flinched, and wondered how the hell she was supposed to be going undercover if everyone knew her last name. Turning, Emma looked up into a pair of light green eyes.

The woman was beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. Her cheekbones were sharp, casting shadows against her pale skin. Her hair was long and dark, almost black, and so long that it curled at the ends. She was taller than Emma, and was wearing a long red cloak. She looked to be around Emma's fathers age.

Her eyes looked upon Emma with a keen familiarity.

Emma felt her heart stutter. Could it be…?

"My name is Red. I have letters from your family." The woman—Red, spoke again.

Emma looked down at the letters she was holding in her hands. Her heart stuttered again, but she took the pages from Red's hand. Glancing back at the woman, Emma took a few steps away so that she could read with some semblance of privacy.

_Emma,_

_~~What were you thinking?~~ _ _~~Why are you doing this?~~ Are you okay? Where are you? I can't come for you at this time, you have to come home, Emma. What you did, leaving like that, was foolish and wrong._

_Grandma is sick. I don't know if she will recover from this, or ~~how long she~~ if she will even get better at all. We need you at home, Emma, not off on some scheme to do whatever it is you feel you need to do. _

_Please, Emma, I'm begging you. Come home._

_Love, Your Father_

Emma grimaced at the letter from her father, worrying over the condition of her grandmother's health. Pausing, she turned to the other letter—no doubt from her grandmother—to see what it had to say. _  
_

_Emma,_

_I love you, dear one. Don't listen to what your father says. You need to do what_ you _believe is right. In the end, only you are the one who has to live with yourself. Don't let this quest break who you are inside. Always remain true to yourself, and know that, even if it doesn't seem that way, you will always have your father's support. You will always have my support._

_I will love you always, Grandma_

* * *

Emma sighed and stuffed the letters into her pocket. She placed her hands over her face to block out the world, if only for a few moments. What was she supposed to do?


	7. The Ties that Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intrigue with a familiar face.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

 

  **The Ties that Bind**

**_King George's Castle, Twenty-some years ago_ **

The man—a behemoth, nearly a foot taller than Prince James, and twice his width—growled, heaving his double-sided spear down on the smaller prince. Prince James jumped out of the way before the sword could cleave him in two, however, and whirled around. The shock of his sword hitting the behemoth's spear reverberated up his arm, but he didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he twirled his sword magnificently, grinning—right at the edge of a hill.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, nearly losing his sword and his balance. Grunting, he forced his body forward, and recovered in the nick of time to meet his sword against the other man's spear once more, snarling. He tried to strike again, but the other man was surprisingly quick, and knocked Prince James onto his side.

James vaulted himself forward, lunging towards the behemoth with his shield thrust forward, a small protection. Such a small, thin protection that it was, a few parries later, the behemoth managed to strike the tip of his spear right through the metal and, using his superior weight and strength as leverage, lifted James off of his feet, up in an arc through the air, and onto the gravel.

Without his sword or his shield in hand, James let out a huge breath, and remained as still as possible on his back. He must have blacked out for a second, because in the next moment, he could hear the behemoth drawing closer…closer…Just as he grunted, readying himself to stab the prince, James' eyes flew open. He threw his body out of the path of the spear, grabbed his sword, which had only landed a couple of feet from his body, and jumped to his feet.

He struck the brute once, twice, knocking the spear away. Confidence surging through him, James made the final blow, shoving his sword up through a weak space in the brute's armor, straight through to his heart. For good measure, he gave it a twist, digging deeper until he felt the hardness of bones at the end of his sword.

"Next time," James grinned as he imparted his victim with a few final words, "Make sure I'm really dead."

He felt the man shudder, and collapse to the ground. Not taking any chances—the behemoth was, after all, nearly superhuman in size and strength, and James wouldn't put it past the other man to be faking much in the way that James just had, he lifted his sword up high and dealt one final strike through the man's neck.

A moment later, James turned around to the cheering crowd.

He'd done it. Hopefully, this would be enough for King Midas and his father.

* * *

 

King George's failing health and Abigail's bareness were weighing heavy on Prince James' mind. He was pacing the floor outside his father's bedroom, working up the courage to confront the elderly man on his sickbed. No matter what medicines they gave him, no matter how many treatments, King George wasn't getting any better. Which meant that Prince James would soon have to take up the mantle of king—and he would need an heir.

It felt like yesterday that he'd married the depressed Princess Abigail, uniting their kingdoms—and their kingdom's wealth. Gone were his days of gambling and dalliances. Prince James needed to clean up his act and overcome his arrogance, for the betterment of his kingdom, so that neither King Midas nor Princess Abigail would have any reason to break off the engagement. If they did that, there was no doubt in James' mind that his kingdom would finally crumble.

Thankfully, he'd managed to reform himself. He was level-headed, kinder, more thoughtful. He would be a good king, perhaps better even than his father, when the time came—and the time was coming.

James paused his pacing, took a deep breath, and steeled himself. _Okay, time to act._

Pushing through the heavy door, James entered King George's luxurious room. His heart gave a pang as he looked at the old, weathered man lying in the over-large bed, but he pushed through it, walking until he was at his father's side.

"Father," James greeted, dropping to one knee. "How are you feeling?"

"Old," George replied, a wet cough wracking through his body. "Too old to be worried about my son producing an heir," he continued, eyeing his middle-aged son before him. "Which is why I have taken action."

"Father, what are you talking about?" James demanded. He hadn't…?

"I've made contact with one of the dalliances of your youth, my son," King George spoke, taking a slow breath every few moments. There was no scorn in his voice, much to James' surprise. "And I have found that you, in fact, have an heir. Illegitimate, but an heir nonetheless."

"Father?" James asked, gasping. He couldn't understand the emotions running through him at that moment. At the same time that he felt devastated, unsure, and betrayed, he felt excited, and almost happy about this new development. King George paid no heed to his son's floundering, however.

"Her name is Emma, James. You have to find her so that you can teach her to rule. You have to find her for—" King George choked on his words, and started heaving coughs. James called for one of the nurses that had been stationed in George's quarters, but he had a feeling it was too late.

King George died the next morning, and the day after that, Prince James was crowned King. He had a lot to do before he could set out to find Emma—Princess Emma. His daughter. But he vowed to himself that, whatever it took, he would find her, and he would bring her home.

* * *

 

  ** _Barnaby's Bed and Breakfast, Today_**

_I'll be back,_ Red had intoned, leaving Emma in a rented room at a Bed and Breakfast. Emma had nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak to the woman. Many things were spiraling through her mind at once, making it difficult for her to focus on any of her current issues for very long.

First there was the issue of transportation to Arendelle and/or the Dark One's hideout. Though, since she'd lost her informant when she'd been kidnapped by Blackbeard—and Blackbeard probably wouldn't help her find the Dark One, if he even knew where he was in the first place—Emma assumed she would work on warning Arendelle of the Evil Queen's plot to overtake the maritime kingdom.

Second, Emma needed to figure out what Red's relationship with Emma's father was. Those green eyes…the shape certainly wasn't familiar, and the color seemed a bit off, but this was the first green eyed-woman Emma had met that seemed to be in the right age group. She'd been wondering about her mother her entire life…was it possible that this woman was her? And if she was…what did that say about why she had left Emma?

Emma didn't want to think on that at the moment.

So on to the third issue of the letters—and really, this was the most important issue of all. Because how she responded to the letters would determine what she ended up doing; going home like the lost little girl she felt like she was, or endeavoring on her quest despite the odds stacked against her.

_Grandma is sick_ , Emma echoed in her mind. _I don't know if she will recover from this_.

But then her grandmother's letter had been so…final. Like a goodbye, yet so certain that Emma would continue on with her mission. Emma wanted to rush back just to tell Ruth that no, this wasn't goodbye, it wouldn't be goodbye. _Couldn't_ be a goodbye. Emma just had a few things to do before she returned home, and then she could figure something out so save her ailing grandmother.

But then what if it is too late?

"Damn it!" Emma exclaimed, kicking the wooden leg of the bed, then yelping as she cursed her boots for not being thicker. She _had_ to figure this out, and before Red came back from whatever she was up to. Speaking of Red—

"Is everything all right in there Miss?" Came a voice at the door.

"Ah, yes, everything is fine!" Emma shouted back, but her response was hesitant. The voice…it sounded like her father's voice, but more…confident. More assured. Like her father's voice in sound and cadence, but unlike in every other way. Puzzled, Emma moved to the door. Just as she was about to put her hand on the knob, the door blasted open, revealing a knight—

Emma's father.

"Dad!" Emma exclaimed, shocked and confused. What was her father doing here? Why was he dressed like…well, like a very rich knight, with armor of pure gold, and a thick red cape lined with pure white fur. He had a look of confusion on his face to mirror Emma's, though Emma couldn't fathom why.

"So you know who I am," he intoned, giving Emma a once-over. Emma could only stare back. How…how had her father grown a _full beard and mustache_ in the span of a couple of days? She hardly saw him shave, and more often than not he was sporting some graying shadow of stubble on his chin and cheeks. But this was a thick layer of facial hair. It made him look several years older, and Emma wasn't sure if she liked it.

"I can't believe you're here," David intoned, taking a step closer to Emma. He held out a hand like he was going to touch her, but then dropped it at the last second. There was a wistful expression on his face. "You're so beautiful. And you have my ears—sorry about that. If I may ask, who…? Never mind; it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I found you. Once he told me, I was confused. I would think any—"

"Once who told you what?" Emma demanded, wondering where her father was going with this crazy talk. What was _wrong_ with him? But if he was here, that meant that Ruth wasn't in as bad a condition as David had made her out to be in. Which meant that Emma could continue with her mission without regret or guilt weighing her down.

David sighed, confusing Emma even further. _What's wrong with him_ , she wondered. _He's not acting like my father. Or dressing like dad. And then there's the issue of the beard, which doesn't make_ any _sense._

"Never mind that right now; we need to get you home, and then we can talk about everything. You have a lot…" he trailed off, finally looking away from Emma and down at his feet. " _We_ have a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on."

"No!" Emma exclaimed. Now that she knew her grandmother was okay, she _really_ needed to figure out her next step. She'd wasted enough time wallowing in sadness and confusion already, now she needed to get back on track. "I know you want me to come home, but I _need_ to go through with this. I don't know why, but this is _my_ responsibility, and you aren’t going to stop me.

David sighed. "He said you would react this way, but I didn't believe him. I thought…" he trailed off, studying Emma's face. Sighing again, David turned around, heading for the door. "It doesn't matter right now. I need you to listen to what I have to say, but I can't say anything here. So you'll be accompanying me to the castle. Do you have any things you need to pack…? No? All right, let's go."

_Castle?_ Emma wondered, staring after him. It was official; her father had gone off the deep end and was stark, raving mad. If Emma had any idea her running away would have this much an effect on her father, she would have told him in the first place. _Where did he get the gold armor and fancy cloak, then_? Emma thought to herself, taking a step towards the window. Because there was one thing she was certain about; she wasn't going to follow him.

It was too bad she didn't get a choice. Emma felt two sets of hands grab her arms, and she was being ushered after her father. Glancing from side to side, Emma quickly decided that it wasn't worth struggling—both men were twice her height, size, and just about everything else. There was no _way_ she would have a chance against either of them.

Emma groaned in frustration, wondering how the hell—no, there wasn't even a specific question in her mind. _Everything_ was confusing her at that point, from her father's apparent lackey's, to his full beard and overall appearance, and why he came after her after sending the beseeching letters. Her mind was a ball full of questions, and she supposed she wasn't going to get _any_ answers unless she followed David to his 'Castle.'

So Emma allowed herself to be escorted to the carriage—nope, she wasn't going to question it—and settled in opposite David. She admired the smooth seats and clean inside of the carriage as they started moving, and Emma asked how far they were from the farm.

"Farm?" David asked, confused. "What farm?"

Emma quirked an eyebrow. " _Our_ farm?" She replied. Seeing the blank look on his face, Emma made a noise of confusion. "Just who _are_ you?" She demanded, only half serious.

David looked dismayed. "I thought…never mind. I am King James, and I have it on good authority that I am your father."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:** Since there was a bit of confusion when I posted this on ff.net, I would just like to clarify that James is not Emma's father. He just thinks he is. This will be cleared up promptly. And thank you for reading!


	8. Learning Curve

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

 

* * *

 

**Learning Curve**

Emma stared at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing her reflection. She'd been given a dress from Queen Abigail, which was currently being tailored to fit her shorter, more slender frame. It was light green—the color of her eyes, the seamstress noted—and made of a sturdy yet soft material. The sleeves clung to her upper arms, but started widening at the elbows, and opened up until she couldn't see her hands below the hem.

It didn't cover her shoulders, but held on tightly to the sides of her arms to stay up. There were jewels lining the straight neckline, and Emma imagined it was the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever seen, much less worn, in her entire life.

After finding out that the man she'd thought to be her father was actually King James—she was still trying to work out how that had happened—Emma spent the five and a half hour carriage ride to his castle in silence, studying him. He didn't seem inclined to talk while they were travelling either, and had been more content to simply watch Emma in return. So they'd studied each other in silence, bumping along the rocky road.

When they'd reached the _castle_ , James was quick to introduce Emma to Queen Abigail, who Emma imagined to be one of the saddest people she's ever seen. It could be the fact that she thought her husband just discovered his long-lost daughter in her twenties, but Emma didn't think so. It seemed like it was something…more.

Abigail took Emma to her room, where she quickly found a suitable dress, and then left Emma alone to her thoughts, though it wasn't long before a tailor came in and started hemming the dress around Emma's ankles. She was told that she would be dining with King James that night, as they had much to discuss. Emma was glad about that actually; she had a few things she needed to clear up with him, if her suspicions were correct. She would need to send word to Ruth if she wanted to be sure, however, and she wasn't sure how to go about that. She didn't even have paper.

"Princess Emma?" Emma glanced down at the hesitant voice. The seamstress's bright brown eyes gaze up at Emma with wariness. Emma shakes herself; the tailor must've called her name a few times before Emma realized she was being spoken to.

"Yes?" Emma enquired, not liking the sound of 'Princess Emma.' She wasn't a princess, she was a simple farmer's daughter. She didn’t deserve, didn't _want_ such titles. And hopefully, as soon as she cleared things up with King James, she wouldn't _have_ that title.

"I'll have a maid show you to the dining hall now," She said, standing up. Emma nodded her thanks, and a few moments later found herself strolling purposefully though the halls of King James' castle.

She kept track of all the twists and turns they took, making special note of the potential escape doors, should anything not go as planned. She knew her father, but she didn't know anything about this strange man. He could be the same as her father, or the complete opposite—and Emma was leaning towards the latter. Her father had grown up a shepherd, without anything except sheep to tend to and a mother's love. This man grew up a prince, and was probably accustomed to being given his desires on a platter.

Emma had heard very little about King James. Though his kingdom was one of the closest kingdom's that bordered hers, they weren't particularly allies or enemies. The most she'd heard was that Queen Abigail's late father could turn anything he touched into gold, which explained King James' golden armor. Other than that, she was none the wiser to his character, how he treated his people, or the going-ons of his kingdom.

Before Emma could theorize about the state of his kingdom, however, they reached the dining hall. It was larger than she expected, dwarfing the small table at its center. Already seated, King James and Queen Abigail were waiting patiently at the end furthest from where Emma stood.

After being given a light push by the maid, Emma took a deep breath, raised her head high, and started walking towards the pair. They glanced up as she came closer, and King James stood to hold her chair out for her. Emma didn't think that was proper, but she didn't mention anything. So she sat, to James' left, across from Abigail, and waited for one or the other to say something.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Emma," James intoned. "You look lovely."

"Yes, my dress looks great on you," Queen Abigail deadpanned. Emma said her thanks, but didn't know whether or not the Queen was being sarcastic.

"The food will be brought out in a moment," James spoke, his voice hesitant. "I wasn't sure what you like, so had the chef prepare a variety of different foods. Once we eat, we will talk."

Emma nodded her assent; truth be told, she was starving, and would eagerly accept the free meal. Especially when, on her quest, she didn't know how long it would take for her to have a decent meal.

 

* * *

 

The meal was delicious. Emma hadn't heard of anything the chef prepared, except for the pumpkin puree soup which Ruth had made when Emma was younger to celebrate the harvest festival. It had been a particularly bountiful year, and they enjoyed every drop of the pumpkin soup.

Stuffed, Emma was glad that the dress was fairly loose around the mid-section, because she would certainly be popping out of it otherwise. Sighing contentedly, Emma turned her attention towards King James, who was finishing the last of his dessert. If Emma had known there was going to be dessert, she would've saved room. As it was, she was trying to convince herself that having some pudding wouldn't actually make her stomach explode.

After everyone was finished, there was an awkward moment of silence. Queen Abigail excused herself, leaving Emma alone with King James. He opened his mouth to speak, but Emma beat him to the punch.

"You're not my father, you're my uncle," Emma explained in a rush. She'd been working on the theory since the silent carriage ride, and it was the only solution she'd come up with.

Emma only knew a few things about her grandfather; he was a drunk, and died after drinking too much and running his cart off the cliff. Ruth always said that he hadn't always been that way, though; he'd been kind, caring, loving, and hard-working. He used to be someone to be proud of, she would assure Emma. And after listening in on a few quiet conversations, Emma learned that he'd become a drunk soon after David was born.

She'd never really considered that it was anything more than what it sounded like; a man who hadn't wanted to be a father ending up one and turning to the drink. Emma's heard of men like that, and even women, while in town with Ruth. And it seemed the most likely excuse, in Emma's mind. But not anymore.

Now, staring at her father's doppelganger—staring at his _twin_ , Emma wondered if there wasn't something more to his spiraling depression. She wondered if there wasn't an underlying reason to his drunkenness. She didn't know why they would give up one of their children—how giving one twin but not the other even _happened_ —but she was staring at the result. And she told him so, explaining her reasoning. And as she spoke, a strange look dawned on his face—her Uncle James' face.

"You mean to say…" James hesitated. "But, my father—King George said that _you_ are my daughter." He said firmly, looking absolute in his resolve, even though there was a thread of disbelief in his voice.

"He was mistaken," Emma replied, shrugging. "It would be easy to be mistaken about such a thing. If…my mother," Emma had to choke the words out, "had me, and your father asked if the man she'd had me with looked like you, then that would give him a reason to believe that you're my father. And yeah, I have your ears—but that's because I have my _father's_ ears…your twins' ears."

James looked frustrated. Like he was trying to find a reason not to believe Emma, but was coming up blank. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but never said a word. Emma waited patiently for him to gather his bearings. She could understand having the idea but not having the words to express yourself.

"Are you saying…I have a brother? And a mother?" He finally asked. Emma let out a breath and smiled, relieved that he seemed to be following the same line of logic that she'd followed to come to the conclusion that James was, indeed, her Uncle.

"And a niece," Emma gestured to herself, hardly hiding a grin. She didn't hold it back any longer when James grinned a too-familiar grin back at her. "Grandma and Dad will be _ecstatic_ to get to know you," Emma intoned happily. "And now you can get back to your business of having _legitimate_ heirs," she added, relieved. No more princess Emma, it would seem.

"Oh no, you are still the most legitimate heir to my kingdom," James disrupted her pleasant thoughts. "Abigail and I will not be having any children, which—"

"Why not?" Emma interrupted.

James appeared thoroughly uncomfortable. Emma was about to retract her question when he replied. "Her highness is not in love with me. She holds feelings for another, whom she cannot have," James finally spoke, his voice a mixture of sadness and defeat. But then his expression lightened again, and he turned his attention back to Emma. "But never mind that, tell me about your family!"

 

* * *

 

In the end, they ended up talking until Emma was too exhausted to see straight. James, Emma found out, was like her father in a lot of ways, and talking to him almost filled the void that was ripped in her heart after she left her father. Emma promised to bring him to her home, to meet her family, and after she told him of her quest, he offered his assistance in traveling to Arendelle. Emma declined, stating that she still needed to figure out her plan first.

A new maid escorted Emma back to her room, but before she could make it, Emma spotted a lonely figure walking down the hallway. Recognizing Abigail, Emma hesitated. She wanted to approach the other woman, wanted to ask why she couldn't be with her true love. After a moment, she bid the maid good night, and rushed to greet the Queen.

"Your majesty!" Emma called, and Abigail's steps faltered, though she didn't turn and face Emma. "Queen Abigail," Emma said again, bowing to the Queen once she was in her line of sight. In the dim light given off by the nearest torch, Emma could see true sadness on the Queen's face, hidden behind a calm, uncaring façade.

"Princess Emma, do you need assistance back to your room?" Abigail inquired politely.

"No, no," Emma shook her head and chewed on her lip, attempting to formulate her thoughts into words that wouldn't sound…harsh. "I just want to ask…why aren't you with the one that you love?" Emma saw the consequence of being without your true love on a daily basis in her father. But he couldn't help any of that; Emma's mother had ran off, leaving David with a broken, heavy, heart. Emma couldn't imagine why anyone would subject themselves to that for—for _power_ , or a spot on a throne.

"I don't believe that is any of your business," Abigail responded curtly, turning and hurrying off. Emma winced, and followed after her.

"I don't mean to be rude—"

"Then don't ask questions that don't concern you," Abigail snapped, and Emma flinched again.

Grabbing the Queen's elbow, Emma prayed she wouldn't be executed for treason as she pulled Abigail to a stop directly below the sconce.

"Please," Emma entreated. "I just want to know. Maybe I can help."

Abigail stiffened, but then she sighed. "You cannot help. No one can help. My love, my Fredrick, cannot be reached. He is under a curse that cannot be broken, not even by true love's kiss." Abigail turned to face Emma, looking her directly in the eye as she spoke. "He was turned to gold by my father."

Emma was stunned. She didn't know what to say. An apology probably wouldn't be appreciated, so instead Emma asked "There's no way to cure it at all?"

"There is, but it is futile. The waters of Lake Nostos are said to break all curses, to cure all ills, and to be more powerful even than true love's kiss," Abigail admitted.

Emma stared at her, thrown for a loop. "So…why hasn't anyone gotten the water yet?"

"Oh, they've all tried. But an evil creature called a siren guards the waters of the lake. She shows her victims their hearts truest desires, and uses that image to lure them underwater to their death. No one has been able to defeat her, though many have tried," Abigail explained, seeming extremely tired. Emma immediately felt her own exhaustion seep into her bones, and felt guilty for keeping Abigail up to indulge in her questions.

But then she frowned as the seed of an idea rooted itself into her mind. _Water to cure all ills…_ Emma thought of her ailing grandmother, the one thing holding her back from truly making the decision to continue on her mission to defeat the Evil Queen. If her grandmother wasn't sick, there was no doubt in her mind that Emma would have the strength to continue on. So, steeling herself, Emma made a decision.

"I have a plan that will fix both of our problem's. My grandmother is ill, but the waters of Lake Nostos will cure her. And with those waters, you will have your true love back," Emma stated firmly. Her heart was speeding up, she felt her panic rising, but she didn't care. It was time to be courageous; time for her to be a hero. "I will get the water, and defeat the siren."

Abigail shook her head. "It is too dangerous. No one has succeeded yet; you will only become another casualty, and James would never forgive me for allowing his daughter to die trying to save my Fredrick."

"Niece," Emma corrected. "And I am a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. If you will not point me in the direction of Lake Nostos, I will just find it myself." Then, more quietly, Emma added, "But I _would_ like your help, if you are willing to give it."

Abigail surveyed Emma, looking at her as if she were judging Emma's soul. After a moment, she sighed, though there was a lightness to her expression that wasn't there before. There was even a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "If you are determined to go, then we must get you some proper armor and a sword."

 

* * *

 

Emma sat at a desk with a quill in her hand, an ink pot to her right, and a blank piece of parchment in front of her. James had agreed to take her letter to Ruth and David, but she found herself floundering with what to say. In a few hours, she would be facing a siren, and although she would try, there was no guarantee that she would make it back alive. How does one write a potential farewell letter?

 _Well,_ Emma thought, biting her lip. _Might as well start with the basics._

_Dear Grandma and Dad..._


	9. The Siren

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

 

* * *

 

**The Siren**

 

Emma narrowed her eyes, holding her sword carefully—not too tightly to restrict her movement or make her motions stilted, but also not so loose that she'd lose her grip on the hilt when she tried to swing. Her feet were too far apart, so she adjusted her stance marginally, just in time to duck as James launched his attack.

_Left, right, up, duck_ , Emma chanted to herself, blocking James' sword. He was almost as good as David, and better than Emma.

"Nice," James muttered as Emma managed to make him take a step back, though he quickly countered this by making Emma take two steps back in a quick attack. "You're good."

"My father taught me, and he's more than just good," Emma responded, breathing heavily and wiping sweat of her brow. They'd been sparring for the past hour and a half; James had wanted to test Emma's fighting abilities. And while Emma didn't appreciate the insinuation that she couldn't fight, she could understand his need to make sure his newfound niece could hold her own in a fight, if it came down to that.

After informing James of the circumstances of Abigail's true love—Emma found it hard to believe that he didn’t know of Frederick, but apparently the two didn't have the most open of marriages (or marriage-like of marriages, really)—James had insisted that he be the one to defeat the Siren. However, it didn't take Emma long to convince him that he was needed more at her grandmother's side.

_Your mother's side_ , she'd reminded him. It was an unfair tactic, and Emma herself was no better than he was, but in the end, King James would be of more use to Ruth than Shepherd's Daughter Emma.

_Princess Emma_ , Emma thought disparagingly. Though she planned to do away with that title as soon as possible. Strangely enough, the more she thought about the title, the more…. _right_ , it felt. Certainly not likeable in any way; Emma didn't want to be a princess, was content to be just Emma. But it felt _natural_. Which caused her head to go in strange places that she didn't want it to go to, so she pushed it out of her head and focused on parrying James' insistent blows.

So, instead of James defeating the siren, it was decided that, if he determined that Emma could hold her own in a fight, she would get the waters of Lake Nostos and save Frederick from his golden fate. James would travel to Emma's home to meet David and Ruth, give them the letter she'd written, and take a healer with him to…well, heal her. Once Emma succeeded in getting the water, she would send some along with Abigail, and continue on her quest.

Of course, even if Emma _didn't_ pass James' test, she would be travelling to Lake Nostos to fetch the water. She was an adult, for god's sake, and didn't need anyone's permission.

Either way, she was glad when James finally lifted a hand to stop their fight and conceded that Emma was good enough with a sword to try and face the siren. He urged her to turn back if she didn't think she could win, and Emma agreed, even though she knew that nothing would stop her from getting the water.

Anyways, the Siren wouldn't exactly be able to do its work on her. It was supposed to show a person's truest desire, and Emma didn't think that she _truly_ desired anything, except to see her grandmother in good health, and to defeat the Evil Queen to save her kingdom. And it wasn’t as if the Siren could turn into a scenario to lure Emma to her death..

So, an hour later, Emma was off to Lake Nostos, following Abigail on horseback.

 

* * *

 

The smell of swamp was thick in the air. It was the smell of peat and trees, a sickly sweet smell of flowers and a muskier smell of the animals that Emma couldn't see. The trees were thick, both at the canopy and at the base, plunging the world into a state of quasi-twilight. Few noises made it past the thick fog sound barrier, and what little Emma did hear only made her shiver in fear.

_Not afraid_ , Emma told herself, even though she was. _Not afraid of noises in the fog, or of sirens. I have to do this._

Emma felt at her hip, making sure that the two water skins were still attached to her belt. She was wearing beige pants that had more pockets than any girl could dream of, a loose-fitting but thick and warm emerald shirt that was cinched around her waist, and a dark blue cloak. While it wasn't enchanted like Emma's cloak was, it would do for the time being—not that Emma had any illusions that she would ever see her cloak again.

Emma adjusted the sword in her hand for the umpteenth time before finally giving up, pulling her slick leather gloves off and grasping the cool metal hilt with her own bare fingers. The only problem now was controlling the sweating of her palms.

The air was cool, but started taking on a humid quality, alerting Emma that she must be nearing the actual pond. Her footsteps slowed, each step placed carefully, every movement controlled, until she finally reached the border of the lake.

Glancing around, she tried to peek through the mist towards the fabled siren, but could see no other living creature. She waited, tense, for some beautiful beast to appear and challenge her, but nothing of the sort happened.

_Maybe she died?_ Emma wondered, shrugging. She hesitated a moment longer, before taking off her cloak so that it will not get wet—or get in the way of a fight— and stooping to her knees. She takes one of the water skins from her hip and moves it towards the lakes surface to be filled. As soon as her water skin touches the water's surface, a ripple spreads through the still lake. Emma pauses, her breath catching.

She can _feel_ it right then. The sensation of eyes on her skin. Standing, Emma hesitates, unsure. But there's no point in turning back now.

"Show yourself! I know you're there!" Emma calls out. Her eyes glance over the lake wildly, looking for any sign of movement.

From the center of the lake, a larger ripple starts. Air bubbles to the surface, and a head starts to emerge. Emma watches as a woman comes into view, and starts walking towards her, on the surface of the water itself.

"Here I am," the woman says breathily, her voice like music to Emma's ears.

Emma stares at the woman, surveying her. Is this her deepest desire come to life? If it was supposed to be then…

"Sorry, but I don't really do blondes," Emma said, frowning. _Really? A woman? This is the terrifying monster whom all others have failed to defeat?_

The siren smiled knowingly. "What is your name?" She asks. Without waiting for Emma to respond, she continues. "Would you like to know mine? Because I can be anyone you want me to be."

Emma frowned. Maybe this wasn't her truest desire? "I don't want you to be anything except _dead_ ," Emma replies, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice. "Now I am going to fill up these two water skins and I am going to leave you to your little pond," Emma informed the woman, and started bending over.

"Oh, really? So you are completely immune to my…charms?" The siren asked coyly. "Well…would you prefer me in this form?"

Emma made the mistake of glancing up to see what the woman meant. She might have regretted it instantly if she wasn't suddenly captivated by the new woman standing before her.

"Well?" The woman asked, and Emma could only stare. Her heart was pounding, because she _knew_ this woman, could feel their connection to the depths of her soul. This was her…Emma's mother.

The woman had light blonde hair with strawberry highlights. It hung to the backs of her knees, wavy near the ends, just like Emma's. The bridge of her nose was covered in endearing freckles, her skin light as porcelain in the quasi-twilight. _She has my smile,_ Emma thought, standing and taking a step into the lake.

The cool water shocked some sense into her.

"No," Emma shook her head. "This is all an illusion. You're not really her. I—I know that this isn't real," Emma told herself more than she was trying to convince the siren.

"Sometimes," Emma's mother— _no, the siren_ —replied softly. Her voice was a wondrous melody, like a lullaby dancing through Emma's childhood. "Illusions are better than the truth." Her eyes twinkled, though Emma wasn't close enough to make out the color. For some reason, she _needed_ to see the color. "Come with me, my daughter, and I can give you everything you can't have. All you have to do is follow me," the siren enticed.

Emma nodded blankly, barely registering the fact that she was waist-deep in water. "Take another step," the siren commanded, and Emma did. "Further, let me see your face, let me behold my daughter's face. You're everything I've ever wanted, let me be all you've wanted."

"You're not real, this isn't real," Emma whispered, though she wasn't sure she believed herself anymore. Her mother was _right there_ , and Emma was just a step away.

"Closer," she chanted, and Emma took another step, now chest-deep in the water. She could feel her extremities numbing, even though the water wasn't actually that cold. _Just need to see the eyes_ , she told herself, taking the final step that would put her a foot away from the blonde.

But then, she saw them. Two bright green eyes, the same shade and shape as Emma's, an everything about her was _correct_ , it was _right_ , and yet it wasn't. Seeing the eyes reminded Emma of someone else's eyes, though she couldn't place where she had seen them before. Couldn't place how she _knew_ those eyes, knew without a doubt that _those_ were her mother's eyes, even if _everything_ else about the siren was wrong.

Realizing this was like realizing that she was drowning herself—literally and figuratively. Emma blinked, and took a step away from the surprised Siren.

"No, it's an illusion," Emma said. "I can't trust an illusion."

"Well, Emma Charming, you're the first," the siren smirked. A second later, Emma was under water.

Gagging, she tried to hold her breath as she was dragged under by the siren. She couldn't see anything, couldn't find her sword, and was being pulled further under by the moment. Forcing her eyes open, Emma watched as the siren let go, beckoned Emma to follow her further under. But the spell had worn off, and Emma was through with the water wench.

Too bad Emma couldn't swim.

Emma felt herself sinking, further and further under the surface. Her heart beat was slowing, an she was certain that she would black out or be forced to inhale water any second now. She could feel the siren's fingers clutching at her ankle, trying to drag her further down, and Emma tried to find something to hold on to when—

—the surface of the water was disturbed with a giant, furry splash. The siren looked up and screamed, though no sound came out, before her neck was promptly torn out.

Emma was too cold, too close to blacking out to care that she should probably be more afraid of the thing that had killed her murder than she was. But she couldn't bring herself to care…

 

* * *

 

…"Emma, Emma wake up."

Emma spluttered, and was forcefully rolled onto her side. She gagged, coughing up about a gallon of water, before rolling back onto her back and gasping for air. Her windpipe was scraped raw, and it hurt just to inhale, but Emma didn't care. She was _alive_. And she had her savior to thank—and to fear, probably.

Blinking, Emma shakily glanced around, looking for the furry thing that had saved her and attacked the siren. All she found was Red, staring back at Emma with penetrating green eyes.

"Are you all right?" Red asked, and got to her feet, holding a hand out to Emma. Emma glanced around, spotted her cloak and one of the water skins. The other water skin was still attached to her hip, mercifully.

"I'm okay. Did you see what saved me? I wish I could have thanked…it," Emma warbled, her voice a harsh croak. She cleared her throat, but that only made the pain worse.

Red seemed to hesitate. "I did. But it is gone now. You are safe."

Emma nodded her acceptance, before dipping the two water skins under. The water line was, strangely enough, nearly a foot in from where it had originally been, so Emma needed to lean further to get water into the sack. She managed, and when she was finished, she stood up beside Red.

"How did you find me?" Emma asked.

Red winked. "Just followed my nose."

Emma frowned. "I didn't think that I smelled _that_ bad." She gave herself a surreptitious sniff. "At least I _didn't_ ," she amended evenly.

Red laughed, and Emma found herself smiling. "Come along now." Red motioned Emma closer, a smile still lighting her angular features. "Your friend, the Queen, is waiting for us."

 

* * *

 

Emma carefully followed the path that Abigail had instructed her to follow in order to get to the nearest town. The path was obviously well-worn, which caused her to worry that she might run into someone along the dark forest trail. But she kept her head down, keeping up a pace that should put her in the center of town before all of the inns were closed down for the night. She at least needed to make it to some place to rest before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

After meeting up with Queen Abigail—who quite tactlessly exclaimed that she was glad Emma had not died--the trio had made their way towards Frederick's shrine. If Abigail questioned Red's presence, she didn't voice her concerns; she was too preoccupied with the fact that she was about to reunite with her true love, after so many years. It didn't matter to her that Frederick was still young, and she was nearly an old woman by then, and it didn't matter to Frederick either. Emma had turned away from their passionate greetings, happy to discuss with Red her next step.

Red had tried to insist that Emma needed her on her journey, but Emma had declined any assistance. She wasn't entirely sure that Red reporting back to David at every turn of her journey was the best route to take, especially considering Emma's journey would most likely require the assistance of a well-renowned pirate.

So they had gone their separate ways, after Emma promised multiple times that she would call for Red if she _ever_ had any trouble. Emma was surprised by the offer, and had wondered once again what exactly Red's relationship with David was. But she was grateful nonetheless, and had set forward on her renewed journey with a lighter heart, knowing that Abigail was taking her fastest horse to get the lake water to Ruth.

Indeed, Emma felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Though she was determined to not make a definite decision on whether or not she would continue with her quest until she received word from Ruth, David, or James, Emma was certain that she would be hearing good news from any one of them soon.

 

* * *

 

She arrived in town a couple of hours past nightfall, when the silvery moon was lighting up the few clouds in the sky. Emma made her way quietly through the streets, and stopped near one of the harbor side inns that was open at the later hour that it was.

Taking a deep breath, Emma shouldered her sack and stepped through the threshold into the warm, candlelit parlor. There was no one around in the lobby except for the innkeeper, who accepted her coins quickly and showed her to her room. Emma had expected to stay a couple of nights as she gathered word on where the infamous Captain Hook was, and if anyone had seen his hip the Jolly Roger around.

As luck would have it—though something cried out in Emma's gut, trying to tell her that something was _off_ —Emma ran in to Hook the next morning as she was heading down to get breakfast.

"Miss Swan!" Hook exclaimed, a dashing grin following the exclamation. And if there was something contrived about his greeting, about his smile and his sudden appearance, well, Emma decided that she was just paranoid after the past couple of days she had been having. After all, being kidnapped a couple of times would leave a girl feeling a bit paranoid, and justifiably so.

Emma ended up regaling her tale to Captain Hook over breakfast, though she felt compelled to leave out the fact that her uncle was King James, technically making her Princess Emma. It wasn't a necessary piece of information, after all; and it would soon be remedied anyways, with a more legitimate heir. After her story, she sits back, and asks Hook what, exactly, is _he_ doing this far away from where she'd last seen him.

Hook leaned back in his chair, his one hand playing with the flask of alcohol Emma always saw with him. His rings tapped against the metal methodically as he surveyed her, as if weighing Emma for trustworthiness.

"A lead," Hook finally admitted, leaning forward. There was a harsh glint to his eye that made Emma uneasy. "To the Dark One's whereabouts. Tell me, Miss Swan, have you ever heard the tale of the Beauty and the Beast?"


	10. False Leads

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned Once Upon a Time, alas, I do not.

 

* * *

 

**False Leads**

_Twenty-One Years Prior, the Dark One's Castle_

"She has magic," the dark-haired Snow White intoned, tilting her head curiously. "I want to know if…"

"If it will be _enough_ to defeat the Evil Queen?" The scaly green man trilled, grinning with wide eyes. He cooed, making noises eerily similar to that of a pigeon's. "If her white magic of _true love_ will be capable of _triumphing_ over her darkness?"

"Yes," Snow White confirmed. She glanced anxiously around the foyer, though she could hardly see further than ten feet in each direction. She'd arrived at his castle in the middle of the night, and though she'd intended to call upon Rumplestiltskin in the morning, he'd appeared out of thin air and disrupted her plans.

Rumplestiltskin eyed Snow White curiously. "Where is this child, dearie? And where is your dear _husband_?"

Snow White stiffened. "They're safe, at home."

"Safe because you've yet to tell them," Rumplestiltskin sang, creeping closer to Snow. She edged back carefully, warily. "What name _are_ you going by these days, dearie?"

Snow sighed. "They call me Mary Margaret."

Rumplestiltskin giggled gleefully, playing with his long scaly fingers. "Well, _Mary_ —Can I call you Mary?—you've come to the right place! I have the answer you seek!"

"And what do you want in return?" Snow White knew how these deals with the Dark One worked.

"A year from now," Rumplestiltskin started, pacing closer to Snow White. "A year from now, you will need to make a deal with me. All I ask, dearie, is that, when the time comes, you will leave your home to make that deal."

Snow White stopped her backwards steps, stared at the imp in confusion. "Your deal is that, in exchange for the answer I seek, I agree to make a deal with you a year from now? A deal to ascertain that I make a deal?"

The Dark One shrugged. "Call it _insurance._ "

Snow White steeled herself. Frowning, she nodded. "It's a deal," she whispered.

The Dark One's eyes narrowed. "Then your answers is _yes_. Your daughter's magic is enough to defeat the Evil Queen."

 

* * *

 

_Now_

The woman was beautiful, just like the legend said. Her hair was long, curly, and dark brown with a few streaks of elegant silver. Her eyes were a wise, stormy blue, framed by thick black lashes. Her eyebrows were arched in interest as she watched Emma pacing the length of her living room.

"You have magic," Belle French blurted out.

Emma stopped. Turned. Glanced at the closed door, on the other side of which she knew one pirate would be waiting. Looked back at the older woman.

"Please, have a seat," Belle implored, spreading her hand out towards the couch in front of her. "I've just made tea; would you like some?"

"That would be nice, thank you," Emma replied, smiling gently. Belle got up and walked to what Emma assumed must have been the kitchen, her blue and white skirts swishing around her ankles. She came back a minute later, holding two cups of tea. One cup had an intricate design of spiraling vines and roses and birds. The other was light blue with a geometric design. Both had small chips around the edges.

Belle grinned slightly. "Sorry, I have a terrible habit of chipping these things. I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Emma replied, taking the chipped cup and saucer. "Thank you. How did you know I have magic? I wasn't even sure…"

"You learn to recognize it." Belle nodded, not really at anything in particular. "When you're around it as much as I was…you can start recognizing the signs. You're holding your hands mostly pointing towards your sides, as if you’re trying to protect others from them. You have an air of…lightness about you," Belle breathed, nodding to herself again solemnly. But then she grinned. "Of course, there's also the fact that I know who you are."

"How?" Emma wanted to know.

"That's another story for another time. What is the real question you would like to ask me?" Belle wondered, taking a sip from her tea cup before placing it on the coffee table and smoothing down her skirts.

Emma had to admit, for a woman who lived miles into the woods, she was fairly well off. Every wall in the living room was lined with bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with books. The floor was hardwood, polished to a pretty shine. She had three couches, one underneath the large window, and two couches facing each other. They were all comfortably stuffed, and soft enough to make you think you were sitting on a cloud.

"I need to know where the Dark One is, and I…well, I was kind of hoping you would be able to tell me. There's this story…"

"Beauty and the Beast." Belle smiled softly down at her lap. "The beautiful girl whose heart of gold was pure enough to see through the Beast's cruel and ugly façade, to the man that was hidden beneath." Her smile turned stiff, abruptly. "Only, there is no man hidden beneath the Dark One. Tell me, Emma, would you like to hear the tale of Beauty and the Beast?"

 

* * *

 

_Once Upon a Time, there was a young woman who loved three things; her family, her books, and her people. She was the daughter of the proud Sir Maurice, who inspired in her a love of her people, and the late Lady Colette, who had bestowed upon her daughter her love of books. She lived in happiness with the prosperity of her people for several long years, until one day when the Ogre Wars came to her doorstep._

_Then, she was forced to make a decision; ensure the prosperity of her village, of the people she'd grown up with and had grown to love, or let her people die. It really wasn't a difficult decision to make._

_So, the young woman made a deal with the one known as the Dark One. She agreed to be his servant for the rest of her life, and he agreed to keep her village safe from the Ogre Wars, promised that no one she'd grown up with would see any harm, any bloodshed from their loved ones._

_And he kept his promise, and she kept hers. For months, the young woman tended to his castle, kept his things organized and clean—and, when she had the time, she was allowed to peruse his rather expansive library. As shocking as it was, she was happy, living with this cold, dark man in his cold, dark castle. She would not, however, remain happy for very much longer._

_Because the young woman realized that she had fallen in love with the Dark One; she'd fallen in love with the shell of a cold, dark man, who gave her books and pretended to be cruel to her when he simply_ could not _be. Because, the Dark One realized, he too had fallen in love._

_But it was not enough. When the young woman confessed her affections, the Dark One was conflicted. He wanted so badly to accept her love, to break the dark curse that held him captive. But there was something that he loved more than her—he loved his power, and the thought of being the weak, crippled man he was before he had power was worse than the thought of being without the young woman._

_So, she left him. He did not stop her, and when she returned to her village, everyone in it was safe. He'd not broken his promise, though she had broken hers._

_Wrought with emotion, the young woman fled into the woods, searching for a place where she could live out her days with the companions she'd had since the first time her mother read her a story—books._

_What no one else knows is that, twenty years ago, something happened to draw the Dark One from his Dark Castle. Something caused him to seek out the woman, and give her something that no one else could claim—a way in to his castle while it, along with the Dark One himself, was gone. For the Dark One had made a deal with a woman called Snow White, and he was to go into hiding until the time came that their deal was completed._

* * *

 

"Did you say _Snow White_?" Emma asked, her voice rising in pitch.

_"Shh, shh," the woman pressed a finger to her lips, "My name is Snow White. Follow my lead, I'll get you out of here," Snow White promised, and rushed up the stairs._

_Emma shook herself, recognizing the name as the bandit the Evil Queen was searching for the night of the ransacking._

_Why does it seem_ , Emma wondered, staring at Belle with a blank look, _that everything keeps circling back to Snow White?_

"Yes," Belle confirmed. "I don't know what deal it was that she made with the Dark One, only that it would force him to stay in hiding until something happened. No one has been able to find his castle since then, or _him_ for that matter. But…" she trailed, glancing around the room they were seated in.

Standing, Belle hurried to one of the many bookshelves that lined the room, browsed the shelves until she saw what she was looking for. Grabbing the book in question, she flipped it open and pulled out a thin silver key which had been hiding in the pages. Striding back to where Emma was seated, Belle produced the key and offered it to Emma.

"That key will get you into the Dark One's castle." Belle promised, her lips a thin line.

Emma nodded. She couldn't help but believe the woman. "And what do you want in return?"

Belle shook her head. "Nothing. I'll just…I'll just be glad to be rid of it."

 

* * *

 

"You're bloody brilliant, Swan!" Hook exclaimed, grinning down at the key in Emma's palm, glittering red, yellow, and orange in the light of the fire. Emma grinned in response, pulling back slightly when Hook made to take the key from her palm. It wasn't that she didn't trust him with it, it was just that—well, she didn't trust him with it. She didn't trust the pirate as far as she could throw him; he was a pirate, after all. And while he'd assured her that he was a man of his word, Emma didn't have any previous experience with him to trust him on that fact.

In all the stories she'd heard about him, _man of his word_ was never mentioned. Only _pirate_ , and _womanizer_ , and _the most feared captain on the sea._ While Emma wasn't one to judge based on what others said about a person, she did have to take this into account when considering the fact that not only was he her only method of transportation to the Dark One's castle, the key was her only clue towards the Dark One. The Dark One, in turn, who was the only one who would be able to tell Emma how to defeat Regina.

And it all hinged on Emma keeping her leverage over the pirate.

Not that Hook seemed to mind her seemingly not trusting him. He just nodded, as if to say he knew where he stood, and turned back to stoke the fire in front of him.

They were camped in a clearing, sitting on a log a couple paces away from the few other crew members who'd come along on the journey with Emma and Hook. So that they could discuss their next step in private, Hook had explained.

"So you know that I need the Dark One to defeat the Evil Queen. But why are you so quick to help?" Emma wondered, glancing at Hook's face for a reaction. His jaw clenched, and a storminess appeared in his eyes, but other than that, he showed no outward signs of a change of emotion.

"The Dark One took something from me, a very long time ago," Hook explained, looking down at his gleaming silver hook.

"Your hand." Emma surmised, frowning. What kind of deal had Hook made that required the exchanging of a hand for a hook?

"Aye," Hook confirmed. "But tell me love, why do you wish to defeat the Evil Queen?"

"I don't know," Emma shrugged. "I just woke up with this…gut feeling that I _need_ to stop her. Not—not that she needs to be stopped, but that _I_ need to be the one who breaks her reign of terror. _I_ need to—to defeat her."

Hook nodded, as if he knew the feeling. As if he _understood_. And Emma didn't know why, but the idea that someone could relate to this foreign feeling within her, the idea that someone understood, made her heart feel warm, if only for the few seconds that their eyes held. When they looked away, the warmth was gone, and Emma wasn't even sure it was there in the first place.


	11. Letters Home

 

**Letters Home**

* * *

 

 

Dear Grandma and Dad,

I am so sorry I left like I did, but I just had to go. There wasn't really a choice in the matter, for me. For all my life, I have felt like there is… _something_ missing. It's nothing that either of you have done to make me feel this way. You both are incredible, and I would do anything for you. But this is something I have to do for myself; something I have to do for my people, our people. I won’t go over any details on paper, but please, just believe me. I have to do this. And when I come home, you can chain me to my bed or something equally drastic.

Now, about James. I didn't know what to think when I saw him; I thought it was you, Dad. He is a lot like you in a lot of ways, and I hope I did the right thing in directing him to the both of you. He promised he would get Grandma the best healers, and I believe him.

Okay, I will write to you both again as soon as I get the chance. I love you.

From, Emma

P.S., Dad, you have to ask James about the incident with the dwarf and the bag of poppy seeds. He couldn't have been more than twenty and—no, wait, I'll let him tell you. Love you both!

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Emma,_

_Oh sweetheart, I don't blame you for wanting to go on an adventure and see the world beyond the small parcel of land you grew up on. I know you have a good head on your shoulders, and when you come home, you will be able to tell me all about the wondrous adventures you have had. Whether or not you are chained to the bed is completely dependent on how long it take you to come home, and the state you come home in._

_My dear, you may have noticed the bits of smudged ink and wetness on this paper. As I write this, I am crying tears of absolute joy. Thank you for bringing my James back to me. You have given me the most precious gift in the world; after all this time, I have finally reunited with my son. David won't admit it, but he too is excited to have a brother (a younger one, too, for I distinctly remember that James came out close to an hour later!). You have given us joy, even as far away as you are._

_I am feeling much better now, thanks to the water you sent. I do wish to know how you got it, but perhaps keep that in a letter to only me, and not your father. He is being absolutely far too stubborn for a man of his years; James wishes for us to move in to the castle, but your father is too proud to accept any help at this point in time. He is still convinced that he will be going after you, as soon as I'm back on my feet. But don't worry, this old woman still has a few tricks up her sleeve!_

_I love you, my dear. Always remember that. And always remember that_ you _are in charge of your own destiny, not anyone else._ You.

_Alas, my hand is starting to shake, and I fear these words won't be legible soon. Write promptly, Emma. I love hearing from you, even if you cannot write more than a few simple sentences. You are in my thoughts,_

_Love, Grandma Ruth._

* * *

 

 

_Emma,_

_You need to come home. Grandma is feeling better, thanks to the water you brought. Where did you find such water? James and Abigail have informed me that it is your adventure to tell, though Red insists that you were never in any danger. I never thought you were in any danger, so her words concern me._

_If you don't come home, I will have to come find you. It doesn't matter where you are, in this family, we will always find each other. Please Emma, I know that you think this is your job, or responsibility, but it_ isn't _. If you don't want to come home, at least accept the help of Red, or James, or_ someone _. You don't have to do this on your own. There are people who care for you, who only want to protect you._

_James told me the story, even though I never asked. Remind me to never let my brother speak to you again—you are too young to be hearing of such tales. I know you're rolling your eyes as you read this, so stop. You_ are _too young._

_James also told me of how the two of you met. Emma…I don't know what to say. Other than you are_ my _daughter, and I love you with all my heart. Come home._

_Love, Dad_

* * *

 

 

_ Dear Emma, _

_I have delivered the letter you asked me to bring, and Abigail has recently come with Frederick and the water. Congratulations on your victory! I had no doubt you would be victorious. You are very much your father's daughter._

_Thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet my family. I look forward to getting to know them as a family should, and getting to know you when you return. I must admit, I have many questions for Ruth, not the least of which being why she gave me up. But without you, I never would have been given the opportunity to ask these questions. So, thank you._

_Additionally, I discussed your position as the next heir to my kingdom with Ruth, and she had some shocking news for me. I have sworn to say nothing, but I have urged her to tell you the truth._

_Sincerely, 'Uncle' James_

_P.S., You should come home soon. Abigail and Grandma are trying to plan your coronation ceremony, and I would think that you would want a say in things._

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Grandma,

Thank you, Grandma, it means the world that you approve of my adventure. I've just come back from a woman named Belle's house. Have you ever heard the tale of Beauty and the Beast? If you haven't, I can't wait to tell you.

We are making progress on my quest. I hope to have answers soon.

I am elated that the water made you feel better. I won't lie; I had help, though I never got a chance to thank whatever it was that helped me. Grandma, have you ever heard of an animal randomly saving a person from drowning? A furry animal—it almost looked like a wolf, or a dog of sorts—jumped into the lake and saved me. I will tell you the full story when I get home, but just know that I am fine now, and you are fine, which is what matters.

Now that I know you're okay, I've made my decision. I will not be returning home until I've completed my quest. I love you, Grandma. I will write when I get the next chance.

Love, Emma

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Dad,

I can't come home yet, and you can’t follow me. I'll tell you how I got the water when I get home. And I _will_ be coming home. I promise.

I don't know what else to say. I will write when I can, though I don't know if I will be able to for a little while. We're gaining headway on my quest, and I suspect another couple of months at most and this quest will be over. ~~Hook says~~ The Captain of the ship I am sailing on says that we should arrive at our destination in a couple of days, so I will probably already have gotten there by the time this letter reaches you. Don't worry about me, I am fine.

Love, Emma

 

* * *

 

 

_ Dear Emma,  _

_I don't know what you said to your father, but for the past week he has been muttering about 'Damn pirate,' and 'better keep his hand to himself.' He seems to be preparing to leave, and might have already left if it weren't for mother actively hindering him. Either way, I don't trust that she will keep him away for much longer—just thought it fair to warn you._

_Beware of the one called the Dark One, Emma. I know the story of the Beauty and the Beast, and I know the man behind the myth. He is no friend of yours, Emma, and you would do well to not trust a word he says. In fact, if at all possible, I would suggest you steer clear of him._

_Sincerely, 'Uncle' James_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dearest Emma,_

_I have heard the tale of Beauty and the Beast, though I am sure you will be able to put a new spin on things after you conclude your journey. I am eager to hear of your conversations with 'Belle.'_

_I am so glad to hear that you are progressing. The sooner you get home, the better. And there is no shame in having help; in fact, I know of such a creature that might have assisted you. I daresay you may be seeing her again sometime soon._

_My dear, I never had any doubt that you would dedicate yourself wholly to this quest. It is not in your nature to do things half-heartedly, and I know you will accomplish whatever it is you've set out to do. Believe in yourself, like I believe in you._

_I love you, darling girl._

_Love, Grandma Ruth_

* * *

 

 

_Emma,_

_I am coming to get you._

_Love, Dad_

* * *

 

Emma looked down at the most recent letter in her hands from her father. She glanced up at the vast ocean before her, darkening as the sun set on the horizon, and sighed.


	12. Tallahassee

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

**Tallahassee**

Emma fiddled with the key hanging on a string around her neck as Captain Hook stared at her. She could see the grey smudge of land on the horizon. Hook theorized they would be anchoring the Jolly Roger by the end of the next day, and for that, Emma was relieved.

After nearly two weeks of being on the open ocean, surrounded by salty water and saltier (not to mention greasy, rough, and, more often than not, impolite) men, Emma was ready to regain her land legs.

"Check," Emma muttered with a smug grin, moving her bishop one space up so that its path intersected with that of Hook's king.

The Captain's cornflower blue eyes fell back to the chessboard, eyeing the finely carved pieces with a calculating air. It was a beautiful set, Emma had to admit. _Definitely stolen,_ she surmised, _but pretty nonetheless._ The chessboard was made entirely out of rose quartz. The 'white' spaces were polished to a glistening shine, and the 'black' spaces were coated with an opaque lacquer. Always the gentleman, Hook had allowed Emma to be white for their first game—and she'd retained the opaque pink chess pieces by besting him three times out of four.

"Check." This time, Emma moved her rook into position, so that the only place for him to run was forward or backward. However, Emma had neglected to take Hook's own bishop into account, which quickly took her rook and moved him out of check—but put his bishop in line with her queen.

Three moves later, it was check and mate.

"How did you do that?" Emma wondered, looking at the chessboard in shock.

Hook smirked. "A pirate never tells, love. Rematch?"

"Captain!" Smee interrupted, scurrying towards the pair with a distraught look about him. Smee leaned in to whisper in Hook's ear—and whatever he said caused Hook's face to go blank. He glanced towards Emma, his blue eyes stormy, and looked away just as quickly.

"Apologies lass. We'll have to continue this competition some other time. I must adjourn to my quarters—good night." And with that, Captain Hook hurried off the deck, his leather jacket fanning out behind him.

Emma sighed, slumping against the side of the boat. She started to pack up the chess set, but was almost at once shooed away by Mr. Smee—he was one of the more polite men aboard the Jolly Roger, though Emma had an inkling that he was that way for his own well-being rather than out of general kindness.

Standing up, Emma glanced out at the open ocean, which was tinted lavender in the dimming light. It seemed strange, how far they'd travelled in such a short amount of time, yet how long it had been since she'd last seen her father. Her stomach was in knots, there was a stinging irritation behind her eyes, and Emma felt like she was going to vomit. She was terribly homesick.

Her hand went to her pocket, where she'd been keeping all of the letters her family had sent her. While she was marginally worried about her father catching up with her, she knew there was a very little chance of it. She had a huge head start on him, and she was traveling on the fastest ship in all the realms—or so its captain said. Either way, she wasn't _truly_ worried that David would catch up with her and drag her back home. What was tying her stomach in knots was the fact that she wished it weren't true—she wished he _would_ catch up with her, would send some form of help (even though she was far too stubborn to accept the help).

Emma sighed, and shivered as the wind picked up around her. Longing for the warmth of a fire, Emma had a brilliant idea.

"Now I just need to find some kindling," she mused, glancing around the ship with a keen eye.

* * *

 

It turned out, she didn't need kindling. When he saw her bustling about the ship—which wasn't all that unusual, but apparently she had a suspicious look about her—Mr. Smee asked her what she was looking for. Instead of encouraging her decision to practice magic, Smee turned a bright red color and suggested that she seek warmth in the First Mate's cabin—where she'd been sleeping—and turn in for the night. Emma took the suggestion gracefully, and fell asleep quickly.

She was determined, however, to practice her magic before they went off in search of the Dark One. She knew for a fact that the Dark One was one of the most powerful, if not _the_ most powerful, dark magic sorcerers in the Enchanted Forest. If she wanted any sort of leverage against him that wasn't in the form of her most valued possessions, she'd need at least a bit of practice. She held no misconceptions that she'd be able to defend herself or any of the pirates against the Dark One, but Emma was certain that it could help out a bit in a pinch.

On the deck of the Jolly Roger, Emma was causing havoc—and she was thoroughly enjoying it. She didn't try and do anything major; she wasn't doing anything that interfered with the running of the ship, nor was she causing so much trouble that anyone was at risk of injury. But aggravation…well, there was a lot of that going around.

Magic, it turned out, came easy to Emma. She started out slowly, willing a small flame to appear at the tip of her finger. She could feel the magic coursing through her veins—it felt light, airy, and _warm._ And sure, she burned herself, but it was only a small burn that Hook had said would heal in a week's time.

When she mastered the art of starting a fire without burning herself (which took about an hour) Emma moved on to different practices. Namely, the art of making an object disappear from where it was to where she wanted it to be.

She didn't know how she got the idea—really, it just popped into her head how funny it would be if Smee's hat was suddenly billowing in the wind with the sails. And then, a second later, it was. Actively trying to make his hat appear somewhere else was _much_ more complicated.

It required her utmost concentration, and a great deal of discretion. It became almost like a game among the crew—well, a game that only Emma enjoyed—to try and distract Emma from making the next object disappear before she could move their shoes to the crow's nest, or their shirts to the Captain's Quarters. Smee, in particular, tended to be the one Emma played the game with the most. She almost felt bad, considering how attached he was to his bright red cap, but she mollified herself with the knowledge that her little game could very well save his life in the near future.

So Emma continued her game without remorse, hiding behind barrels of alcohol so that the crew wouldn't see her, sneaking up behind them while focusing all of her attention on their belts, or the rope they were carrying. It was all fun and games for nearly two hours, as Emma got better and better. She thought that even the crew was starting to enjoy her shenanigans.

That is, until she took things a little too far.

He was steering the ship towards the land, which was drawing ever closer, and seemed to be lost deep within his thoughts. Emma watched him for a few moments, studying him to see if he really wasn't paying attention. He'd been laughing at Emma's game a few moments ago, when Emma had once again vanished Smee's cap—only to have it reappear in his back pocket. He hadn't found it for a solid five minutes, and not one of the guffawing crew members had so much as lifted a finger to point him in the right direction.

A sly smirk crept across her features, and spread into a wide grin. With a flick of her wrist, Emma vanished the Captain's hook and made it reappear hanging from her finger.

He almost seemed not to notice for a moment—or perhaps his reaction was simply drawn out dramatically. When he eventually noticed, or chose to react, it was not the reaction that Emma had desired.

"It's bad form Swan, tampering with a man's hook," Hook ground out, stalking towards her to snatch his hook back.

"Seriously?" Emma demanded, letting him take the hook back without opposition. Hook hardly spared her a glance as he stormily made his way back to the stern. "It was a joke."

"Perhaps the Captain does not see it that way," Smee suggested from Emma's right. She glanced at him, frowning. "His moniker is 'Hook' for a reason." Smee explained with a shrug. Then he turned and went off on his business, leaving Emma to think on his words.

It wasn't as if this were some shocking fact for her; she knew, logically, that his parents hadn't named him 'Captain Hook,' and he hadn't been born with a hook for a hand. He'd confirmed that it was the Dark One that had took his hand from him, though the circumstances under that exchange remained a mystery to Emma. Maybe it was time to get to know the captain a bit more…

* * *

 

Emma inadvertently got the chance to bring up the issue as the crew was preparing to weigh anchor. The sun had nearly set on the horizon, and as soon as anchor was weighed they would take the rowboat to shore and start the hour-long trek to the Dark One's castle—or, at least, where the castle was the last time anyone saw it. She was standing next to Hook as he directed the process, idly bouncing on the balls of her feet, when she saw his wrist.

"Who's Milah? On the tattoo?" Emma wondered out loud, glancing from the elaborate script to Hook's face.

There was a vein popping in his clenched jaw. He spared Emma a glance, revealing more than he'd probably intended to. In his glance, Emma saw no small amount of pain. It was a pain she recognized; the pain of loss.

Though she'd never known her mother, she still felt the loss. She felt the loss every time she entered the market and saw little girls tugging on their mother's dresses, eating chocolates together and looking at pretty things. Sure, Ruth had done everything within her power to make certain that Emma never lacked maternal affection and interaction, but…she knew it just wasn't the same.

The pain in Hook's eyes was slightly different, though. It wasn't the pain of a love that was never experienced; no, his was the pain of a love experienced, and then ripped away. Emma saw a lot in his one glance.

"Someone from long ago." Hook drew a breath.

"Where is she now?" Emma questioned.

Hook took a step back from the stern, his muscles tense. "She's gone," he stated simply. His tone left no room for continuation, but Emma couldn't help herself.

"He took more than your hand from you, didn't he?" Emma surmised, realization dawning on her. But what kind of deal required a hand and a woman? Emma could sense there was more to the story. "That's why you want to kill him," she concluded in a final tone.

"Have you ever been in love?" Hook questioned, his eyes on hers. Emma stared at him. The truth was; no, she had never been in love. She knew the pain of loss, but she didn't tell him that. She remained silent, staring at him with a pensive look, wondering what it was she should say.

"I'll help you," she finally offered. "If it's in my power, I'll help you get your revenge," Emma promised solemnly. She gazed up at him for a moment, and he stared back, neither one keen to break the silence that had erupted between them. Finally, Emma looked away, shattering the space between them.

"Thank you," Emma heard, but when she looked back, he'd already turned away.

They weighed anchor, and an hour and a half later, were at the shore and ready to traverse the forest that blocked them from their destination.

The Dark One's castle.


	13. The Dark One's Castle

**The Dark One's Castle**

 

The walk through the forest was quiet and strained. As the sky darkened, and the shadows elongated and encompassed the woods, tension grew. Everyone jumped whenever a branch cracked. More often than not, it was either Smee or Emma making noise, though that didn't diminish the anxiety that permeated the air. It was lucky they'd decided that only five people were necessary in traversing the woods; any more, and Emma suspected they would have already aroused the attention of the Dark One. As it was, Emma wasn't entirely sure that they _weren't_ under his radar.

As they drew closer to where Hook said that the castle was located, Emma's nerves became more and more frazzled. She'd been fairly confident in her ability to bargain, and in her burgeoning magical capabilities, when they'd left the ship. But the closer she got to the castle, to the hopeful close of her long journey, the less she held that faith in herself.

As Emma and Hook crested a hill—the other two pirates and Smee were a couple of paces back, having agreed to wait in the shadows in case a bad situation came about—Emma felt a burning against her throat where the key was resting. Glancing down, she saw that it was glowing a bright red in color. Looking up again, Emma was surprised to realize that she could see the silhouette of the Dark One's castle growing, where once there had been nothing.

"There it is, Swan" Hook announced in surprise. "The Dark One's castle."

Her stomach began to tie itself in knots. Looking down, Emma tried to calm her pounding heart, tried to take deep breaths so that she wouldn't be a bundle of nerves when confronting the Dark One. She was wringing her hands, hardly paying any attention to where she was placing her feet. Her eyes were on the ground at Hook's feet—so she saw the foot-deep hole he was about to stick his foot into.

"Whoa!" Emma exclaimed, grabbing Hook and pulling him to her chest. He turned around as she pulled, wrapping his arms around her as well. Emma peered over his shoulder, to see how far the hole extended.

"It's about bloody time," Hook muttered, a smirk on in voice. Emma frowned and tried to pull back, but he held on.

"There's a hole," Emma explained, managing to slip her arms between their torsos. "You would have fallen in and broken something. I have no use for a broken pirate."

"Well, that's a plausible excuse for grabbing me," Hook admitted, pulling back to look at Emma. She couldn't make out his expression, only seeing the shadows on his face. "But next time, don't stand on ceremony."

Try as she might, Emma couldn't help herself from rolling her eyes. She smiled ruefully, and took a step over the hole. "Come on, we're almost there." Emma motioned him around the hole, which perhaps wasn't as deep and foreboding as she had originally thought, and they continued on their trek.

They made it to the large, ornate doors unharmed. Emma could hardly see where she was going, but she lifted her hand up to knock—

and the doors swung open with an ominous creak.

Swallowing, Emma glanced back at Hook's shadow. He nodded, and Emma turned back. Taking a deep breath, Emma trudged into the grand foyer of the castle.

It was a huge hall. Though most of it was cloaked in shadows, there was a table only a dozen yards into the room lit with a single candle. Emma glanced around, tried to distinguish _any_ form of movement within the shadows, but it would have been easier attempting to distinguish between her grandmother's black bean soup—the only dish that Ruth couldn't quite get a handle on—and a bowl of mud at first glance. Not that Emma would ever let Ruth in on that.

Emma couldn't hear Hook's footsteps behind her. Turning around, she checked to make sure that he was following behind her.

"Hook!" Emma exclaimed, gaping at the man that was now a foot of the ground, clutching his throat. Beneath him was the shadow of a small man, his hand poised in a crushing grip. Emma realized that he was using magic.

"Stop!" She shouted, rushing into the darkness and towards Hook.

"I've been waiting a long time to do this, dearie," came a trilling, happy voice—far too happy, given the current situation. Emma felt queasy.

"Please, put him down! I've come to make a deal!" She tried to explain.

"Yes, yes, in a moment. Just let me enjoy my _killing_ him," the Dark One grit out.

Emma exhaled in frustration, her heartbeat quickening. Closing her eyes, Emma lifted her hands and furrowed her brow, hoping that _something_ would happen to help her get Hook back on his own two feet and not struggling to breathe. She forced herself to focus on the task, and slowly, she felt the warmth of the magic pumping through her veins—and then out through her palms. Emma opened her eyes just in time to see the blast of pure magic move through the room, distracting the Dark One enough that he let his grasp on Hook go.

"Well, well, well," he tittered, turning his attention towards Emma. Emma cringed as the hall was suddenly lit with torches, and the Dark One came into view. He looked at her as if he'd just found some fascinating new species of bug on the bottom of his boot. "What _do_ we have here?"

His hair was so greasy it looked wet, and it hung in brownish-green curls to his shoulders. He was wearing some kind of reptile skin vest, a dark purple shirt, and the same reptile skin pants. His skin—well, it looked like reptile skin as well, tinted green, glittering with scales. His eyes unnerved Emma, following her every move.

"I've come to make a deal," Emma explained boldly, trying to keep her nerves from showing as she took a half-step towards the Dark One. "I need to know how to defeat the Dark Queen." Her eyes slid over to Hook, he was struggling to stand a couple of feet behind the Dark One. Emma knew that, as soon as he was able, he would try and return the favor in attempting to murder the Dark One. So she needed to bargain quickly, before he tried.

"Yes, I suppose you do." The reptilian man steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips. "The question is," he continued, shaking his to and fro as he spoke. "What do _I_ get in return for such information?"

Emma frowned, biting her lip. Reaching up, she undid the clasp to her necklace again, pulling off the vial that had hung around her neck ever since her mother had left.

"My most prized possession," Emma whispered, trying not to let her sadness show. "A lock of my mother's hair." She'd always hoped that, one day, she would be able to use the hair to find her mother. In some sort of tracking spell, or—if that failed—as a comparison to women she saw around that perhaps could look like her mother might have looked. It truly was her most valued possession, for she cherished more than the ring she kept on her finger. It was…like a tether that kept her, even in a small way, connected to her mother.

A tether that she was giving up now in order to defeat the Evil Queen and save her kingdom.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes shone with greed, and Emma knew that she had a deal. Reluctantly, she stroked the vial, giving the hair inside one last glance before reaching out to hand him the vial.

"Do we have a deal? My mother's hair, in exchange for you telling me how to defeat the Evil Queen?" Emma held tight to the vial, wanting his firm agreement on the matter before relinquishing her bargaining chip. She doubted that a ring would be so easy to bargain with.

"It's a deal," the Dark One said shortly, grasping for the vial. Emma let go of it, and the Dark One giggled manically. He vanished in a grandiose billow of maroon smoke, only to appear a moment later to Emma's right. She jumped, startled, when he was suddenly there—but quickly got to the point of the visit. Hook was regaining his stability, so Emma didn't have much time before he was ready to take on the Dark One—and she had agreed to help.

"To defeat the Evil Queen, you need to fight magic…with _magic_." He giggled again. "Regina is one of my _star_ pupils; taught her everything she knows. In order to defeat her, you'll need to know just as much. I will train you like I trained her, and you'll be able to defeat the queen, take back the throne, and what have you."

Emma frowned, glanced down at her feet. The only way to defeat Queen Regina was to…to _become_ like her? That was _not_ something that she had planned on doing, wasn't even in the realm of something that she wanted to do. How could she? It would be like betraying her father, who had worked so hard to make sure that Emma grew up to be a good person. It would be a betrayal towards her grandmother; Emma had promised her that she would return home safe and sound. But if she had that sort of darkness in her…Emma wasn't so sure she would be sound.

But it would be a betrayal to herself either way. A betrayal if she took up the offer, went against her very nature to become like the person she wanted to defeat. But a betrayal to herself if she _didn't_ , and had spent all this time attempting to defeat the Evil Queen, but when given the opportunity, she shied away.

Emma took a deep breath. She had made up her mind.

"Don't do it, Swan!" Hook exclaimed unexpectedly from the other side of the room. Emma whipped her head up, stared at him as he made his way towards her. His eyes were focused solely on the Dark One, watching for any movement. But his body language, his tone of voice, was directed towards Emma.

"Do not agree to that," Hook spoke softly, but with no less urgency. "Once you go down that path…there is trouble coming back from it. Don't agree, Emma. We'll find another way. I will help you—I promise." When he said the last two words, his eyes did stray from the Dark One, to meet Emma's. She stared back at him, shocked that he would make such a promise. There was a warm feeling growing in her heart, bubbling up within her—she smiled.

"Okay," Emma agreed, taking a step away from the Dark One and towards Hook. "We'll find another way."

"Your funeral," the Dark One quipped. "Now, let me just finish what was started _long_ ago."

Emma whirled around, but he was nowhere in sight. She turned back to Hook, who had a murdering look about him. Her world was held still for a few tense moments as the both waited for something, _anything_ , to happen. Emma was about ready to call the Dark One's bluff, or to leave, when she was abruptly thrust against the nearest wall by a wave of cold air.

Emma's head hit the wall, and the world went dark around her.

 

* * *

 

 

**The Farm**

 

"Let's be rational here," Ruth intoned, lifting her hands in a placating gesture. David could see that her thin white hands were shaking, but damn it if that would ever stop his mother from doing something that she put her mind to. David frowned—as much as he could, given his current constraints. That stubbornness made it quite apparent that Emma was her granddaughter.

Ruth continued smoothly, speaking in a calm tone of voice with a hint of maternal disappointment and admonition. David could recall with appalling clarity his mother using that tone of voice to calm down his father from one of his rages. She would also use the distinctly motherly tone of voice to calm down David, and later Emma, whenever they threw a tantrum.

"We don't know where she is. We don't know where she is going, and we don't know how she is getting there. And we are not about to send her a letter asking her to come home. So coming here, it doesn't help your cause any."

David wanted to say something, to add something, or to shout—all three and more, if he was given the opportunity. He strained against the ropes binding his wrists together, tried to inconspicuously work them against the nail that was loose in the floorboards—but it was easier said than done. The only thing he managed to accomplish was the feat of rubbing his wrists raw.

"Oh dear," the pirate fretted facetiously, twirling one of his curly strands of black hair around his finger. He glanced around the room with narrowed brown eyes. "I suppose no one has told you, then? Such a pity."

"Told us?" Ruth inquired. She was standing in front of David in a protective stance.

David cursed the fact that they were alone in this mess. If he hadn't of been so adamant that Ruth needed to stay on the farm, where everything would be familiar and comfortable for her, they would not be in this situation. James, Frederick, and Abigail had set off to return to James' castle earlier that morning. James had gone to set his political affairs in order before returning to the farm to get to know his family more. Abigail and Frederick had agreed to act as temporary sovereigns until James could return.

Even Red was trying to pick up Emma's scent for David. One thing that had gone right—he was glad that Blackbeard and his pirates hadn't felt the need to bind his mother up the way they had David. She was still weak, recovering, and probably wouldn’t be able to handle any more added stress.

"Your precious _Emma_ ," Blackbeard sneered. "Has a good dose of light magic in her. Enough to—say, stop an evil queen on her tyrannical conquering warpath? Probably not. However, to be completely certain, her Majesty would like to have that girl locked up where she'll be of no bother to anyone." Blackbeard rolled his eyes, and strolled closer to Ruth. "My point _being_ ; if the girl were to fear for your lives, I do believe she would have the motivation to work her magic and _be_ here."

David felt his blood run cold. Emma had magic? How long had she known—and how did she find out? Who would have told him?

None of those questions truly mattered—even though it seemed that, lately, David was drawing more questions than answers about his family. He could learn the answers later, when he had his daughter safe at home, away from pirates and evil queens.

What mattered to him was that Regina had broken her end of the deal—the deal that _she_ —he couldn't think her name, or even the name he'd known her by _—_ had made to keep him and Emma from the Evil Queen's wrath. David was almost certain that having someone else do her bidding was the same as doing it herself. Or, at least, it was the same thing in the wording of the bargain they'd made. Which didn't really mean anything, given the second deal that _she_ had made with the Dark One.

But…it put a spark inside his chest, a spark of hope, that hadn't been there for a _long_ time.

A spark that was immediately doused when David heard the words Blackbeard was having written down on paper.

"…Ruth is taking a turn for the worse, you must come home now. She may only have a few breaths left. _Love¸ Dad,_ " Blackbeard finished with a breathy sigh. "Well, that settles that. I'm sure any day now, we'll be seeing your _savior_ rushing through that door. All _I_ need to do…is wait."

David shouted against the scarf that was in his mouth, but he could no more stop Blackbeard from tying the letter to a messenger bird than he could pinpoint Emma's location in that point in time. It seemed he and Blackbeard were in the same position; now, all he _could_ do was wait. Wait, and hope that his daughter didn't take the bait, and fall right into Blackbeard's trap.


	14. The White Witch

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

 

**The White Witch**

**_Outside the Farm_ **

"There's no use going in there. Even in my wolf form, we'll only get ourselves tied up as well. If they hurt Ruth…" Red exhaled, thinking of her own grandmother. Granny was back at home, having no idea of all that was going on. No idea that the time…that everything Red's friend had been planning for…was happening now.

"We wait," Snow White intoned, her eyes never leaving the silhouettes of the pirates in the window. She was extremely calm, in Red's opinion—too calm. Red had seen her friend harden over the years, though she remained the same physically. "Emma will get the letter, and she'll come."

Red stared at Snow, her eyes widening. Before she could criticize this plan, however, Snow went on to say "When she comes, she will be taken to the Evil Queen, which is exactly where she needs to be. Does Graham still have his connections inside the palace?"

"He does," she affirmed, blushing slightly. "But he can't guarantee Emma's safety. Snow, this is—this is taking things way too far."

Snow never lifted her gaze. "He doesn't need to; I'll be there, and heaven help the one who gets in the way of me and my daughter."

Red still shook her head. "We don't even know if you can trust the answer the Dark One gave you."

"We can, because he is still trapped in that castle. Do you really think he'd just stay in there—for what? For fun? Separating himself from anyone that wants to make a deal, who he could profit from, to perpetuate the thought that Emma is the only one who has the power to defeat the Evil Queen?"

Red sighed. "I just think that we should be a little more cautious. I may not have had a role in her life, but I still think of Emma as the niece I've never had."

Snow smiled, finally turning to her friend. "I know. And once all is said and done, we'll finally get to know her."

* * *

 

**_The Dark One's Castle_ **

Emma groaned, her head and back aching. She rolled over onto her side, attempting to find a better position to sleep in. There were voices in the background, loud ones that irritated her throbbing skull. She couldn't shut off the noise, no matter how hard she pressed her hands to her ears. Muttering to herself, she slowly pushed herself off of the ground, and was startled by what she saw.

Hook and Rumplestiltskin were sword-fighting not ten feet from where Emma was passed out on the ground. Emma, ready to be of help, stood up too quickly and almost lost her balance as her head swam.

"Emma!" Hook shouted, bringing the Dark One close enough to touch with one swipe of his blade. "Run, get out of here!"

"I'm not going to leave you," Emma returned, using the wall as a support. When she finally regained her balance, she shoved off of the wall and raised her hands, ready to blast the Dark One with her light magic—which, in all truthfulness, would probably feel like a fly bouncing off an elephant. But it would be of slight help nonetheless.

"Wrong move, dearie," the Dark One tittered. He started to wave his hand, when Hook abruptly lunged towards the Dark One, knocking him of balance. They resumed their parrying, the clashing of swords wreaking havoc to Emma's already tender-feeling head. She was at a loss for what to do; at the same time that she wanted to jump in and help out, this was Hook's fight, and she wasn't sure he would appreciate the help. And anyways, Hook could handle himself.

Emma could see the both of them tiring; she wondered how long she had been unconscious for while they were sword-fighting around her. They were a good distances apart, though Hook seemed to be backing himself into a corner—he lifted his sword up to meet the Dark One's, only to take a step back as the shock from the blow reverberated up his arms. Hook took another step back, was nicked on his cheek by Rumplestiltskin's sword. His back touched the wall, the Dark One had a mad grin on his face, Emma lifted her hands to help out and then—

he slipped by the Dark One.

"How much shall we wager to see if the Dark One still lives with his head at his feet?" Hook inquired, sounding for all the world as if he were discussing something as simple as chess.

 _Chess,_ Emma marveled, remembering their previous game. _So that's how he beat me; by using the same strategy he just used in swordplay!_

The Dark One giggled—and vanished in a swirling cloud of smoke.

"He can't have gone far—he's confined to this castle," Emma noted, glancing around the foyer. Hook was already shaking his head. He slid his sword back into its scabbard and sauntered towards Emma.

"I'd rather not risk it," he said with a smile. His blue eyes were twinkling, despite the previously tense situation. Not entirely like a man who'd just lost his opportunity for revenge.

"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, staring up at him.

Captain Hook gave Emma a very serious, very searching look. He continued to look at her for what felt like an hour, though couldn't have been more than a few seconds. His expression finally softened, and he looked away. Finally, after the silence was becoming awkward, Hook gave a deep bow.

His lips quirked up into a grin. "Killian Jones, Captain of the Jolly Roger, at your service."

Emma tilted her head—confused, but intrigued.

"Emma Swan, d-daughter of a Shepherd, at yours," Emma replied formally. It felt strange to nominate herself _daughter of a Shepherd_. Sure, that was exactly what she was—but for some reason, she felt like it wasn't…encompassing, or adequate enough to describe her anymore. She'd been through more so far on her journey than what a shepherd's daughter should ever have to go through. She wanted to describe herself as…well, she didn't know. And really, it didn't matter, because she'd already said the words.

Emma glanced around, feeling Hook's— _Killian's_ eyes on her. "Well, if you're not going to look for the Dark One, then we better get out of his castle," Emma suggested, attempting to break the sudden tension. Her heart felt like it was going too fast, and his _lips—_

"Aye," Killian said softly, and damn her if Emma didn't watch the way his lips moved when he said that simple word. "I think I have another solution to your problem; there is a powerful white witch who lives just south of here that may be of some assistance in your endeavors."

* * *

 

They were trekking through the woods south of where the Dark One's castle was, having completely left Killian's crew behind. Emma was tired deep down in her bones, but refused to settle down for the night. She hadn't slept in what felt like ages, and while Killian kept mentioning that it wouldn't hurt anything to stop and rest for a couple of hours—and saying that he would even taken the first watch—now that Emma knew there was another source, she _had_ to find it.

Killian was being very closed-lipped about the whole ordeal, only noting that he hoped _one_ of them, at least, had a pure enough heart to get in. Eventually, Emma stopped asking.

* * *

 

The White Witch was beautiful. Her features were ethereal; her pale skin shimmered faintly, her cheeks were rosy and pink. Her hair was a light blonde, lighter even than Emma's. It was piled in a fabulous up-do, pinned with sparkling diamond hair pins. Her dress looked warm, that was certain—and she probably needed it, given the scenery Emma and Killian had just stepped into.

They were in a literal winter wonderland. While outside, the dawn had been warm and welcoming. The sunlight had been only barely visible through the thick foliage, but it held the promise of a beautiful day. There was no promise of warm weather in the White Witch's habitat; instead, it only held the cold beauty of a blizzard.

The area seemed to exist outside of regular time and space. This wasn't precisely shocking, considering that Emma had had to step through a doorway that had appeared out of nowhere to access the realm. It was, however, significantly disorienting to step from a world of dim light into a world where there was no visible sun, yet the snow glared brightly into Emma's vision. She stepped closer to Killian, and jumped when he touched her shoulder.

 _Go on,_ his eyes seemed to say. His features looked all the more striking against the backdrop of the snow; dark hair, bright, ocean blue eyes, decked out in black leather. Emma smiled slightly, thinking about how shocked he was that he'd been allowed entry into this sacred, cold, place. It…it didn't really surprise Emma, if entrance was granted based on the purity of one's heart.

Sure, Killian had spent years of his life—and Emma wasn't exactly sure how many, since legend would have the number between only a couple of years to a thousand lifetimes, and she wasn't keen to ask—focused on the vengeful act of killing the Dark One, gaining retribution for his lost love and his lost appendage.

But he'd given all of that up without a second thought back at the Dark One's castle, and didn’t seem to be even slightly wavering in his decision. It stunned Emma that he'd been willing to give up so many years of concentrating solely on revenge in favor of Emma's quest…stunned her, and pleased her.

But there was not time to dwell on those thoughts. Emma needed to discuss with the White Witch how she would go about defeating the Evil Queen.

"Hello," Emma greeted, walking towards the woman who'd been silent up until that point. "I'm—"

"I know who you are and why your here," the White Witch nodded, smiling. "And must I say, I am pleased to see _you¸_ Killian Jones. It always pleases me when a supposed villain takes the path of goodness—and here you are, standing before me with a pure heart." She smiled softly, and Emma found herself smiling too.

Abruptly, the witch's demeanor turned serious. "But that is not why you're here. Please, Emma, tell me why you have come."

Emma cleared her throat, sparing a split-second glance towards Killian. "We're here to ask you if you know how I can defeat the Evil Queen—Queen Regina. Her reign of terror has gone on for far too long. She intends to conquer Arendelle, and I can't just let that happen. So please, if there is any way you can help us, I beg that you do." Emma took a deep breath. "I have a ring that is very precious to me. It's from my mother; it was one of the few things she left behind when she abandoned my father and I. In exchange for this information…I'll give you the ring."

Emma could feel Killian's eyes on her, but she didn't turn.

"My dear child, I do not want your ring," the woman said kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I will answer your question. In order to defeat the Evil Queen, the answer isn't to kill her. Killing her will rid you of her threat, but will lead you on a path that you do not wish to follow." The White Witch spared a glance at Killian. "To defeat the Evil Queen, for once and for all, you simply must show her the light," she finished cryptically.

Emma stared, half expecting something more—something _substantial_. It wasn't as if she was expecting a set of instructions, but another sentence or two might have been nice. For instance, what exactly was the 'light' and how was Emma supposed to show it to Regina? Was she talking about Emma's light magic? But that would contradict what she'd said about not harming the Evil Queen. Or maybe Regina just needed to see that light magic existed? Emma was thrown for a loop.

"I'm sorry, can you clarify a bit?" Emma wondered.

The White Witch shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid that is all I can tell you. The path you are on will soon have you meeting the Evil Queen, and the choices you make will undoubtedly steer you in the right direction—if only you follow your heart, and what you believe is right, will you defeat the Evil Queen. It was good meeting you, Emma."

Emma frowned, and turned away. She knew that she was being dismissed. Turning, Emma started to walk through the door.

"Oh, but Emma?" Emma turned back at the witch's call, hoping that some more, substantive information would be spared. But all she had for Emma was a warning; "If you fail to turn the Evil Queen onto a better path, the only option available will be imprisonment."

Emma stared, but nodded. She understood the gravity of the situation. She understood how imperative it was that the Queen's evil streak be contained.

* * *

 

Outside the door, time had passed—more time than had been spent in the White Witch's domain. Emma took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be out of the cold. Her mind was reeling with thoughts of the Evil Queen, and the slight information she had just been giving. She didn't notice the bird that landed on Killian's arm, didn't notice his face darken as he read through the letter. She only glanced up when he tapped on her shoulder, his expression dire. His hand remained on her shoulder as he spoke, a reassuring weight.

"Emma…it seems that your grandmother has taken a turn for the worse. She may not make it the night, love."

Emma stared, uncomprehending. Killian's expression softened. "We may not make it in time, love. It's still a week's journey—Emma!"

Emma felt sick, and she felt warm. She knew what she wanted, she knew what she had to do, and so she did it. And in a burst of sickeningly dizzying white magic, Emma and Killian disappeared from the forest and reappeared standing before Blackbeard himself.

The greasy pirate grinned. "Right on time," he announced. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"


	15. A False Escape

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:** Warning: Coarse(r) language, and descriptions of violence ahead.

 

* * *

 

**A False Escape**

"What the hell is going on here?" Emma demanded, glancing around her home.

Her father was tied up on the floor, eyes wide as he took in his daughter and the pirate she'd appeared with. Ruth was being held back by two pirates, ones that Emma vaguely recognized from Blackbeard's ship. Their home was in disarray, and damn her if Emma wasn't going to try and stop it.

"Stop!" Blackbeard shouted just as Emma raised her hands to fight. "If you so much as raise your hands, the old bint gets it,"' he finished, jerking his head to indicate Ruth. "Tie them up too," Blackbeard ordered his lackeys.

But Emma wasn't having that, and Killian wasn't either. They caught eyes, and silent communication passed between them. As a pirate began tying Emma's hands together, she angled them towards the man. She was waiting, waiting for the right moment, waiting for a cue—

"Now!" Killian exclaimed.

They moved in tandem. As Emma blasted the person behind her with enough force to shove him into Blackbeard, Killian drew his sword and began dueling with the pirate that had been edging closer to tie _him_ up. Emma drew her own sword, ready to start fending off Blackbeard when Ruth gave a cry of pain. David was shouting against the rope in his mouth, though Emma couldn't make out the words. She did, however, hear footsteps behind her.

"Not again!" Emma shouted, whirling around. She ducked just in time to dodge a seventh pirates' advancements, nimbly moving out of the path of his oncoming sword. Taking a breath, Emma dropped to her knees and rolled towards her father. Reaching behind him, she cut off the rope binding his hands together as she heard Ruth cry out again.

Looking up, Emma saw that one of the pirates was holding a blade to her grandmother's throat. Emma froze—she didn't know what to do. Her stomach clenched, her hands were locked around the hilt of her sword, she felt no magic coursing through her. She felt her stomach churn and her mind spun, but she couldn't think of a solution that would have her saving Ruth in time.

Emma could only watch. Her mouth dropped open in horror. She wanted to close her eyes—couldn't, couldn’t take her eyes off her grandmother. She drew in a breath, ready to scream. Ruth gasped, her knees shaking. Emma _had_ to do something. Time was drawing itself out. One second felt like a lifetime to Emma. She took a step forward, her motions stilted like a puppets.

_Another step—not going to make it—no time—grandma—_

"No!" David exclaimed. Faster than Emma could track with her eyes, he was across the room. He jabbed his palm up into the nose of the pirate holding the knife to Ruth's throat, simultaneously kicked the other in the groin and caught Ruth as she was falling.

Emma felt adrenaline spilling through her veins, revitalizing her. With a breath, Emma pressed a hand to her heart and steadied herself. She was ready to kick more pirate ass. Certain in the knowledge that her father was safe, was protecting her grandmother, Emma drew her sword up and took another breath—

and felt the business end of a sword scratching at her neck.

"Twice?" Emma inquired jokingly, trying to lighten the situation as her eyes once again met Killian's. He'd just turned, having dispatched three out of the seven pirates, and was readying to fight again when he saw Emma. "You're the most fearsome pirate on the sea," Emma gasped as the blade pressed closer against her neck. She felt ready to cry. "How does this happen _twice_?"

"Oh, don't beat him up," Blackbeard berated casually. He pulled Emma back a step. "I'm sure he's got a lot on his mind—has to protect his only path to revenge, doesn't he?"

"What's—" Emma caught herself from finishing the question; it didn't matter what Blackbeard was talking about when his sword was pressing against her throat.

"Oh, and I wouldn't try that Davie—I'm certain that I can cut your daughter's pretty neck well and good enough to kill her before you can _finish_ me off." Emma couldn't move her head, but she did see her father shifting in the corners of her vision.

"Daddy," Emma whimpered, feeling not very heroic at all as she was dragged backwards out of the house.

Her father's eyes locked with hers. Emma felt a wave of familiar reassurance wash over her—she'd _missed_ him. And now…well, now might be the last time she ever got to see him.

"It will be all right, Emma," David reassured her. He looked certain, though his expression was strained. Emma felt a surge of strength fill her—her father's strength, lent to her in that moment. Not physical strength. David had plenty of that, but it wasn't the same _kind_ of strength. No, the strength Emma found in her father's gaze was a _courageous_ kind of strength. It solidified her bones. It gave her hope. It nearly erased all the fear from her—that is, until she felt Blackbeard's sword dig a bit further into her neck.

Beside him, Ruth was standing firm. "We will come for you, my darling granddaughter," she promised.

"Yes, well, while this family reunion is so beautiful and nice, we do have places to be darling," Blackbeard hissed. Emma could feel his scratchy beard against her neck. She tried not to let her revulsion show. Instead, she steeled herself and put on a courageous face; a face that her father would be proud of.

"Emma—" Killian called out, but if he said anything more, Emma couldn't be sure.

Blackbeard released her for just long enough to throw what looked like a glass bottle onto the ground, and a wave of dark purple ink engulfed them. Emma tried tearing herself away from the smelly pirate, but it was too late—she crashed forward onto her hands and knees. She gasped as splinters of pain shot up her arms and legs; she had fallen right onto some kind of hard tile flooring.

"My, my," came a cruel, leisurely voice. "Aren't you a respectful little one? Though in general, when one greets their Queen, it's most respectful to greet her before prostrating yourself."

Emma tilted her head up despite the throbbing headache that was starting to build at her temples. Before her stood a gorgeous woman who looked entirely too young to be the Evil Queen.

"Regina," Emma breathed.

The woman sneered, turning away. "That's _your majesty_." Turning back, the Evil Queen smirked. "Or, for you, I suppose grandma will do."

 

* * *

 

**_Outside the Farm_ **

"That…didn't go as planned," Red breathed. Snow glanced up at her.

"No," she agreed. "It didn't."

"What do we do now?" The beautiful werewolf wondered.

Snow thought carefully, feeling the simmering anger that spilled through her veins rise to a fevered boil. The plan she'd created—the path to ensuring her daughter's courage, bravery, revealed itself, gone in an instant. But just as quickly, her rage cooled.

"No…this is better than before," Snow said, trying not to sound too much like she was attempting to convince herself of that fact rather than her compatriot. She turned to Red. "Go on ahead of me, tell Graham that there is a change of plans. And tell Granny to prepare an extra bed."

* * *

 

**_At the Farm_ **

David watched as his daughter disappeared from sight—again—felt like punching a wall—again—and vowed that he would get her back safe and sound—again. He burst out of the house in hopes of catching the pirate unaware—but Emma, and any trace of Blackbeard, was gone.

Emma was turning out far too much like her mother for David's good health.

_The bandit smirked eyeing David's sword with obvious surprise. Her emerald eyes glittered beneath her hood. "Don't worry, Charming. I'm sure…well, I'll always find you," she remarked, before turning away and strutting off into the forest._

David's heart beat irregularly as the unbidden memory forced itself into his conscious. _Not now_ , he thought, _right now I need to focus on getting my daughter back. And this time no one's going to try and stop me,_ he imagined, turning to face the two other conscious people in the room.

One was his mother, a calming presence beside him. Though tears were falling down her face, she remained strong.

The other…

"What the _hell_ were you doing with my daughter?" David demanded of the pirate standing before him. He saw the gleam of a weapon; a hook. Captain _Hook,_ David realized. He looked younger than David would have thought, with a scruffy beard, wide blue eyes, and a strong chin. He was still poised to attack, ready to take advantage of any slight weakness on Blackbeard's part.

"I was aiding her in her quest," the pirate explained. "I offered my services in lieu of Blackbeard's. I offered them to Miss Swan, and now I am offering them to you; I will assist you in rescuing your daughter from the Evil Queen."

David stared at the pirate. _Miss Swan?_ He suppressed a smile; Emma truly was like her mother. "What do you have in mind?" David wondered. He was _entertaining_ the idea of letting the pirate help. He wouldn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, but if his plan was good enough, then perhaps David would allow him to participate in the rescuing. Not without a thorough interrogation of all that had transpired between the pirate and Emma first, of course. But until that discussion, David would withhold judgment.

Captain Hook smirked. David frowned. _Or maybe entertaining the pirate's ideas is not the best plan of action._

* * *

 

**_The Evil Queen's Castle_ **

"Grandma?" Emma questioned in confusion, pushing herself to her knees.

"Yes dear?" Regina mocked. Emma stared at her retreating back, attempting to take everything in at once.

Her attention felt broken; she couldn't find it within herself to simply focus on one thing or another. Her eyes flitted to the alternating white and grey tiles, the black knights lined up along the sides of the long room, the vaulted ceiling, the bright daylight streaming through the grand windows to her right. She saw the dead sconces on the walls, the doors leading to god knows where, the dead flowers in vases between each arch.

Emma's attention was drawn back to the Queen once more as she began speaking, though in words too quiet for Emma to hear. The woman was magnificent. Her long dark hair spilled from some sort of bejeweled cloth crown. She was wearing an eggplant purple dress that hugged her curves, flaring out at the knees. It covered her neck, but opened up again at the chest to reveal her ample bosom. She was wearing a glove on one hand, but not the other. Emma stared at the gloved hand for a moment, though no matter how much Regina moved the arm, the fingers did not twitch. She wondered briefly about that, but again decided it was not priority.

Emma could imagine that her makeup was done in a way to make her look intimidating—and it worked. Pushing to her feet, Emma saw that the Queen was only an inch or two taller than she was.

"What—what do you mean?" Emma demanded, feeling sidetracked. She glanced around, looking for the greasy pirate who had brought her here—but Blackbeard was nowhere in sight. "Why would I call you grandmother?"

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?" Regina remarked. Emma whipped her head around to glare at the older woman.

"No," Emma grit out, turning her palms inward. She tried to gather up the light magic she _knew_ was there, but couldn't force it to coalesce into her palms. Too distracted, maybe? "But as far as I know, random old women aren't automatically called grandma."

Regina turned toward her sharply. Emma was close enough now to see that her brown eyes…were blank. There was nothing in them; no hate, no compassion, no jealousy…no love. Regina must simply have been going through the motions of taunting Emma, because there appeared to be no real… _venom_ in her. She didn't even seem all that offended at Emma calling her an old woman. It unnerved Emma.

"You're filthy," Regina noted—her tone was harsh and her expression was demeaning, but again, there was no real rancor in her eyes. "My huntsman will take you to a room where you can wash and dress." She turned to the man standing next to her and purred, "Don't let her within my sight until she is clean," Regina commanded. Emma stared.

"Hold on a second—I need some _answers_ ," Emma demanded. She took a step towards the Queen, but was quickly intercepted by the huntsman. Emma glanced up to find worried honey eyes looking down at her. There was something reassuring in the gaze, but Emma didn't dwell on it long. She _needed_ answers. And she needed to work on converting the Queen, like the White Witch instructed.

Regina waved a dismissive hand, not even bothering to reply as she sank into her throne effortlessly. Emma was pulled along forcefully, though her eyes remained on the Queen until she was out of sight.

Dragged like a sack of potatoes, Emma quickly tired of the treatment. Jerking her elbow out of the huntsman's grip, she stopped in her tracks and pressed her hands to her face. Why did the Queen care if Emma was filthy? Why was she supposed to call Regina grandmother? How the _hell_ was she going to 'show' Regina the light? Especially when she was all alone in figuring out what 'show her the light' even meant.

"Follow me," came a gruff voice. Emma glanced up at the huntsman, unimpressed. "Follow me," he repeated, his amber eyes urgent. Emma frowned, but shrugged. She might as well; not knowing what the Queen had planned for her, there wasn't really anything else she _could_ do. She needed to be here anyways, and while she would rather be here with Killian, showing the Evil Queen 'the light,' Emma would simply have to make do with what opportunity gave her.

So she followed the huntsman down the many halls, attempting to keep her eye on where she was going, but not really having any luck. When, finally, they reached a set of doors that the huntsman liked, Emma walked in without complaint, prepared to be locked in. What happened instead was highly unanticipated.

The huntsman followed her into the room and pushed her onto a bed that was in the center of the room.

He was, of course, quickly blasted across the room as Emma reacted with a burst of light-magic without thinking.

"What the hell?" Emma exclaimed, putting the bed between her and the man.

He'd recovered quickly, and with the same urgent look about him, advanced towards Emma once more.

"There are eyes everywhere," he muttered, the words only loud enough for Emma to hear them. She stared at him, nervous; was this guy crazy or something?

He neared her, and abruptly lunged across the bed to tackle Emma.

"I owe your mother a debt," the huntsman whispered in her ear. Emma stilled.

"You knew my mother?" Emma demanded, pushing her head harder into the stone floor to look into the huntsman's eyes. He nodded.

"Red and I have a plan, along with…the woman known as Snow White. Do as you are told; wash, dress, and do _not_ try to use your magic against me again. She cannot attempt to harm you while you are still innocent."

"I'm not innocent," Emma grouched.

"If you weren't," the huntsman contradicted, "you would be dead. Go." He lifted himself off of her in an effortless roll, and Emma sat up quickly. She lifted her hands up in defense, but for some reason, she felt as if she could trust this man. Not only that, but this place…this room…it seemed to calm her. Well, not calm her, but Emma was certain that she shouldn't be nearly as calm as she was in the situation that she was in.

"Oh," he called to her in a half-distracted voice. "And my name is Graham."

As she washed her face and arms in the warm basin that sat behind an ornate room divider in the corner of the room, Emma considered what she knew.

Red, Graham, and Snow White all had a plan to rescue her. Okay, great. Why they had a plan, Emma only knew bits of; Graham apparently had a debt to her mother, and Red was probably doing it because she was Emma's dad's friend. But that didn't explain Snow White's involvement—and really, it didn't even explain Red's involvement. The women were both kind, that much was true. But Emma wasn't so certain _she_ would stick her neck out for some random friend's kid.

_Yes you would,_ a voice at the back of Emma's head corrected her. Emma shook her head; it didn't matter, though, what _she_ would do. It didn't even really matter why _they_ were doing it. What did matter was _how_ they would go about rescuing her.

"How do you plan on—"

"Don't ask." Came Graham's quick reply. Emma frowned, but didn't push it.

"You know, I have my own plan that I need to act out," Emma spoke blandly, frowning as she glanced down at the now murky water. _Who knew…a person sure can have a lot of dirt on their skin._

"Did that plan _involve_ getting yourself kidnapped, or was that a side benefit?" The huntsman retaliated rapidly. Emma wasn't so sure she enjoyed his quick wit. She chose not to reply. After a moment, Graham questioned, "Are you finished? There is a dress hanging by water basin that her Majesty wishes for you to wear."

"Why does _her Majesty_ care what I wear?" Emma wondered, but started unlacing her own dress obligingly. The new dress was maroon in color, and looked like it had come from Regina's own closet. Emma wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Graham didn't reply. Emma peered around the divider, only to find that the room was occupied no longer.

Frowning, Emma put on the new dress, and then sat on the bed to think.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

 

Emma felt her eyelids start drooping. She'd been sitting on the bed for a few hours. After having tried the door to find it locked and having paced the length of the room no fewer than ten dozen times, she'd collapsed back onto the bed and tried to recall the White Witch's words once more—but quickly fell into a half-asleep, half-lucid state.

In her mind, she was being told a story.

_Once upon a time, an outcast fell in love with a shepherd—_

_"I wasn't just a shepherd," a familiar voice denied indignantly. "And you weren't an outcast."_

The feminine voice laughed, her laughter tinkling and elegant and beautiful. _All right. Once upon a time, a bandit fell in love with a sheriff…_

Emma felt herself smile; she _remembered_ that story that her parents used to tell her. She couldn't have been older than one or two, but in her dreams, she could remember it as vividly as she remembered the smell of her grandmother's perfume. The story of the two lovers who gave everything up for each other…

_I want something like that_ , Emma thought, before she finally succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep.


	16. Emma's Dream

**Once upon a time** , an outcast fell in love with a shepherd—

"I wasn't just a shepherd," a familiar voice denied indignantly. "And you weren't an outcast."

_The feminine voice laughed, her laughter tinkling and elegant and beautiful._ All right. Once upon a time, a bandit fell in love with a sheriff…

_Emma felt herself smile; she_ remembered _that story that her parents used to tell her. She couldn't have been older than one or two, but in her dreams, she could remember it as vividly as she remembered the smell of her grandmother's perfume. The story of the two lovers who gave everything up for each other…_

_…_

"Once upon a time, a bandit fell in love with a sheriff. How is this possible, you might wonder? How could a man who was supposed to uphold the law fall in love with a woman who took every opportunity to break the law? And vice versa; how could a woman with such disregard for the law fall in love with a man who was supposed to be the example of the law? Well, listen close my child, and you'll find out.

"There once was a bandit who dreamed of freedom. She—"

"Her hair was as dark as the night sky," came David's voice. He spoke wistfully, lost in a dream of his own. "Her eyes were as green as sparkling emeralds; her lips as red as rubies, and her skin as fair as snow."

"Who's telling the story here?" The woman asked, her tone playful. "Now where was I? Right—this bandit who dreamed of freedom, she was planning a grand heist—a robbery to put all previous robberies to shame. She planned to steal the Evil Queen's crown jewels, and would use them to travel to some far-off lands. Oh, she had dreams of all the different places she would go. Of mossy forests, and wide-open oceans, the wind at her back and the prospect of _freedom_ ahead. What could possibly be better?

"And, you see, the bandit had a great advantage over all of the rest of the bandits who wanted to steal from the Evil Queen. That's because she had actually been in the Evil Queen's castle, so she knew the layout. She knew where everything was kept, including the crown jewels. So, while hiding out on the outskirts of a nearby town, the bandit began to devise a plan.

"Little did she know, posters had been drawn up of her and plastered on nearly every single tree and post throughout the land. Everyone would know her face, would see her face and recognize her for the person on the wanted poster. 'Thief!' it proclaimed. 'Traitor to the crown!' 'Wanted alive' 'Reward,' were a few of the things the posters said. Meanwhile—

"Meanwhile," David interrupted. "The sheriff of the town the bandit was hiding out near saw these posters. As the good, upstanding sheriff that he was, he began to study the woman's face. Her learned the curve of her cheek, and the tilt of her chin. He committed her eyes to memory, imprinted her lips on his mind. He told himself that he was staring at it so much because he was a great sheriff—convinced himself that it was only the right thing to do. So that, when he saw her, he would instantly recognize her, and would be able to take her in to custody.

"But while he was studying her, he never realized…never realized that he was falling in love with her. He fell in love with the stubborn set of her chin, the soft kindness in her eyes. The sheriff tried to tell himself it was ridiculous—he couldn't fall in love with a woman he'd only seen a picture of."

There was silence for a few beats. After a moment, the woman began speaking once her.

"One day, while the bandit was gathering supplies for her heist, she was accosted on the road out of town. Not by her—not by the sheriff, but by the evil queen's knights, who had been patrolling the area after hearing of a strange woman coming out of the forest nearby. They grabbed her by the arms, tried hauling her off to their queen. And she put up a fight—the bandit was no push-over, and she knew how to punch. But it wasn't enough. She was thrown over one of their horses, and was taken away.

"Or, she would have been taken away."

David picked up the story from there. "She would have been taken away if the sheriff hadn't been patrolling the area as well. He saw the woman being taken by the black knights, and knew he had to do something. Grabbing the sword at his hip, he ran ahead, outpacing the horses before they could get up to speed. Working quickly, he knocked one black knight off the horse with one swing of the sword. Jumping on to that horse, he knew he had to carefully stop the other knight so that the woman wouldn't be harmed.

"So, David—er, the sheriff, rode up close to the other black knight, dodging the knight's sword, and jumped from one horse to the next, tackling the black knight onto the ground."

"The bandit, realizing that she was alone on the horse, quickly rolled herself onto the saddle," the woman started speaking again. "She stopped the horse and leapt off to help the man who had rescued her—only to find that he had incapacitated both black knights, and was staring at her from fifteen feet away. It was only then that she saw his face—it was the sheriff.

"'Stop!' he shouted, when he saw that the bandit was about to run away. 'I'm not going to turn you in!' The bandit, of course, did not believe him. Why would she believe him? For all she knew, as soon as she went to thank him for saving her, he would lock shackles around her wrists and take her to the evil queen himself.

"But she stopped. Inexplicably, she stopped, and waited for him to catch up to her. 'Thank you,' she told him. 'For…saving my life.'

"The sheriff only smiled. 'Any time,' he told her. A few years later, the sheriff had retired from his sheriff duties to help his mother on their family farm. The bandit had realized that freedom wasn't necessarily the wind at your back and the ocean before you—freedom was a loving family to come home to, and a smiling baby girl they had named Emma."

There was silence again.

"Of course, falling in love wasn't as simple as that," David started again.

"What are you talking about?" the woman stage-whispered. "Of course it was! At least, the children's version is that simple."

"No, after that meeting, the bandit still planned to rob the crown jewels, and the sheriff knew, deep down, that he would have to stop her."

"David, do we really want to—" but the woman's protests were weakening, and she sounded more amused than annoyed.

"The moment they truly realized that they were in love did not come until much later. The woman's attempt at stealing the crown jewels had failed, and although she had not been caught, she had been gravely injured. While she had not managed to steal the crown, she had stolen precious jewelry, and was being chased through the woods by black knights. They had horses, and she was on foot—there was no way she was going to make it out of there any more unscathed than she already was. She paused behind a tree to catch her breath—and found that she was not alone.

"For weeks after his meeting with the bandit, the sheriff could not get her out of his head. The way she talked, the way she moved. It was the same for the bandit—she was pleasantly surprised by this kind, handsome sheriff, and was hoping that she would run in to him again before she left for bigger pastures. So, she tried drawing him out—she walked around his town casually, practically begging to be caught by the black knights, putting herself in harm's way just to see him again. It was reckless, dangerous, and—"

"David," the woman laughed. "Just get on with the story!"

"Right," David laughed half-heartedly. "So…the woman tried drawing the sheriff out—and the sheriff was being drawn out. But he couldn't follow her. He still had his sense of duty, and he felt that if he was in front of her again, he would have no choice but to shackle her and take her in. It just so happened that, on the same night the bandit was running from the black knights, the sheriff had decided to say to heck with duty, and went to find the woman. He knew she had been living on the woods outside of the town, so he decided to start there.

"Suddenly, he heard the sound of a great commotion—of horses trampling through the trees, and the shouts of angry black knights getting closer. He turned left, and right—and then he saw her, catching her breath behind a tree. 'You!' he whispered, hurrying over to her. He was about to ask her what she had done, when he saw it. The front of her shirt was soaked in a sticky, dark liquid. Blood. She had lost so much of it, the sheriff wasn't sure how it was possible that she was still standing, coherent. Quickly, he scooped her into his arms and took her to the town's closest thing to a doctor.

"The doctor stitched her injury, but let the sheriff know that the bandit would need several weeks of rest in order to heal properly. So the bandit did the only thing he could do. He took her to his home and let her stay there while she got better. In those weeks—well, my darling Emma, when two people are made for each other, it is _impossible_ to keep them from loving each other. And when two people love each other…they will always find each other."

"The bandit," the woman spoke softly. "Gave up her quest, and made a deal with the evil queen herself to make sure her family stayed safe. The bandit and the sheriff had a beautiful daughter, have a wonderful life, and have lived happily ever after. The end."


	17. Best Laid Plans

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**Best Laid Plans**

When Emma was a child, Ruth had taken her to the market. It had been an unspectacular day; nothing remarkable had been going on, the weather was actually quite dreary, and Emma herself was being as stubborn and petulant as ever. They'd needed to go for food and supplies, and Emma had been riding on their horse, since she was too young to keep up without complaint.

Ruth should have realized something was wrong with Emma as soon as Emma declined a pastry from the pastry shop. But she'd shrugged it off as Emma being fickle. She should have realized something was wrong when Emma didn't want to dip her feet in the fountain—but she'd dismissed that, since it was a rather cold day out anyways, and really, she shouldn't be allowing Emma to put her feet in the questionably clean water.

Ruth had dismissed several tells in Emma's behavior, and was finally clued in that something was wrong with the child as she watched her granddaughter stare longingly at a mother playing with her two young children.

"Emma?" Ruth had asked gently. "Is everything all right, dear?"

Emma frowned, her pink little lip twisting in concentration. Her nose scrunched, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, her bright green eyes were focused on Ruth. Emma's expression was far too serious for any child of her age.

"Gramma?" Emma has asked hesitantly. "Why don't we have a mommy?"

Ruth's heart broke at the expression on the young girl's face. But she hadn't known how to answer the question in a way that wouldn't upset the poor girl any more than she already was.

Carefully, Ruth took Emma into her arms, held her close.

"Some people," Ruth had said, her voice a bare whisper at Emma's ear. "Are gifted with countless relatives. Some people have their parents raise them, have brothers and sisters to tease and play with, have their aunts and uncles and grandparents to dote on them.

"Others," Ruth had continued, gaining strength in her voice. She pulled back to look Emma directly in the eye. "Have no relatives at all. They have been abandoned by their families, or forgotten, or given away. You, my dear, are very special. You have a father who loves you more than anything on this earth, and I would give you the world in a heartbeat. We love you, Emma. And you may not have a mother, but you will always have me, my dear. I will _always_ be here for you."

Ruth had been aware that she hadn't answered Emma's question, but the girl had not been. Instead, she had given her grandmother a huge smile, and asked if it was all right that they got that pastry now. Ruth, of course, had acquiesced the request.

Ruth always thought about that trip to the market with mixed emotions. Sadness, that her granddaughter had finally realized that her mother was never coming home—if she even remembered her mother at all, at that point. She looked back on it with pride that she had been able to keep Emma from feeling the sting of abandonment at the young age of four. But she also thought back on that day with happiness—with joy, because here was this darling girl who so eagerly accepted her small family as the greatest thing in the world.

Emma running away to achieve her dreams had never been a sad thing for Ruth. Unlike her son, she'd never seen the leaving as a bad thing, but as an inevitable thing. Knowing what she knew about Emma, Ruth knew that the girl would never be able to sit still as a shepherd. She was made for grander places, for adventure and intrigue. David had been as well, but David's sense of family overruled his urge to explore—not that he hadn't done his fair share of adventuring in his youth.

No, Ruth looked on Emma's departure fondly, and knew that when her granddaughter came home, she would have many grand stories to tell—and Ruth would eagerly listen.

But then the unthinkable had happened, and Emma had been kidnapped right from her very home. And Ruth knew what she had to do—knew she had to do _something_ to aid in getting her granddaughter back. It would never come down to sacrificing the thing that was most precious to her—that was Emma, David, and James now that he had been reunited with her. But if it came down to sacrificing herself…well, Ruth was an old woman. She'd lived a long and satisfying life.

So, Ruth took to her room—the room she shared with Emma—as David and Captain Hook began to formulate a plan to rescue Emma. In a calm, clear voice, Ruth spoke the name she'd not uttered once in many decades.

"Rumplestiltskin…Rumplestiltskin…Rumplestiltskin."

And she waited.

* * *

 

**_The Farm_ **

"You know, this might just work," David mused. His arms were crossed, one propped up on the other to hold his chin. He was frowning sternly—Emma would have said he had his 'thinking' face on. David wouldn't disagree. He'd been thinking and strategizing for the past couple of hours, and would have been utterly exhausted were it not for the fact that his daughter was in trouble. Whatever unnatural force was keeping him awake, David was grateful for it.

"Of course it will work, mate," the pirate responded confidently. "It's foolproof."

"Provided that the guards rotate on the schedule you were given," David corrected. "And provided that your informant truly does know where Emma is located. And assuming that you don't stab me in the back—why am I assuming that, again?"

The pirate had the audacity to look offended, lifting a hand up and asking the air, "I'm helping you rescue your daughter. Is that not reassuring enough?"

"Unsurprisingly, no."

Captain Hook looked nonplussed. "There's this thing called trust, mate. Ever heard of it?"

"Not when it comes to pirates, _mate_ ," David responded at once. "Why don't you give me a _reason_ I should trust you?" _A reason I should trust a filthy pirate like you_. It was unspoken, but the words lingered in the air between them. David realized that he shouldn't be antagonizing the only person who had the means to assist him aside from Red—but if the pirate couldn't stand a few words of criticism and distrust, he really wasn't the pirate spoken of in stories anyways.

Working his jaw, Captain Hook gave David a hard blue stare. David only stared back, waiting. Finally, the pirate spoke.

"I don't think you're really in the position to decline my assistance," he said. David only frowned, watching the other man carefully. Hook sighed. "Look, if I had wanted to harm Miss Swan, I would have already. She was aboard my ship for weeks, I've spent ample time alone with her in the forest, and she has been perfectly fine. Why would I have any reason to rescue her if not for a genuine desire to help her?"

After a few moments of maintaining his stalwart posture, eyeing the pirate with a keen eye, David finally relaxed, accepting the pirate's word. It was a leap of faith, but in this situation, David almost needed to take a leap of faith. _It's what Emma would do_ , he though, half exasperated and half proud. And he hadn't failed to notice how easily they'd worked together to dispatch the pirates in the house; they'd obviously reached some sort of fighting wavelength. While it rankled David that he'd not been there to help Emma, he was beyond grateful that someone else _had_ been there.

Even if that someone else was an eyeliner-wearing scruffy-looking pirate, that more than likely had feelings for his daughter. And from the way Emma had looked at _him_ —well, David wasn't so certain that the feelings weren't reciprocated by Emma, too.

But he didn't want to think about that—now, or ever. He needed to focus on setting the plan into action, having it run smoothly. Hopefully, he would have Emma back—and perhaps locked in her room, or shackled to Ruth or David—within the week. He just prayed that they would make it to the Queen's castle in time to save her.

Eyes grim, David nodded to Hook. "All right. I believe you _enough._ Let's do this."

 

* * *

 

**_The Evil Queen's Castle_ **

_Perhaps she was a mermaid, granted legs,_ Emma imagined idly as she began to wake up. _She stayed as long as she could with us, but the sea witch Ursula missed wanted her back, and took away her privilege._

_She was a sorceress from a far-off land, transported back to her own land where she had responsibilities._

_She was in an arranged marriage, but she ran away,_ Emma thought _, but her fiancé stole her away, and didn't care that she actually had a family._

_She was a princess, and…_

Emma frowned. She was finally stirring awake, and it felt as if there were eyes on her back.

"I'm surprised you're not dead," came the bored voice of the queen. Emma gave a start, rolling from her side to a seated position. The bed was too soft; it would hardly cooperate with her movements, and Emma ended up floundering for a few seconds before finally surging to her feet.

Emma lifted her palms, ready to attack—before she remembered Graham's warning. Since she would rather not die before getting the chance to enact her plan and save the world from the Evil Queen, Emma wisely decided to lower her hands, and hopped down from the bed.

"What do you want?" Emma demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"What do _I_ want?" The queen gestured to herself innocently, as if what _she_ wanted was the last thing in the world on her mind. Turning her brown eyes to the ceiling, she appeared to contemplate the question. "I want what all benevolent queens want. But I am not here to discuss what it is that I want. No dear, we are here to talk about what you want."

"What _I_ want?" Her voice was startled. "I thought that would be the last thing on your mind."

The queen smiled grandly. "No, no, not at _all_. In fact, let me list what it is that you want—and correct me if I'm wrong. You, Miss Charming, want power. You want the knowledge that your _family_ is safe, and you are the one who gave them that safety. You want to sleep in a grander place than the dreary little hut you call your home, and you want freedom—to run away and not look back. And I, your kind grandmother, want to give it to you?"

"You're wrong," Emma grit out. Her hands were clenched and her back was ramrod straight. The accusations that were being thrown at her— _they_ were wrong. Emma didn't want any of that.

_Well…_ a voice at the back of her head whispered. _Security for my family wouldn't be a_ bad _thing. My home is perfect the way it is…but, perhaps, if Grandma had her own bed, and Dad didn't have to sleep on the floor, they'd both be better off, would be happier. And, really, who doesn't want freedom?_

A grain of doubt settled in Emma's thoughts. What if Regina was telling the truth? Could she actually give these things to Emma—and what would she ask for in return?

But Emma steeled herself. Her eyes hardened, and she looked at the Evil Queen in accusation. "You can't tempt me." A sick grin passed over Regina's features. Emma frowned, repeated herself. "You can't tempt me, _your highness._ I don't know why you think you're related to me, I don't know why you think you know me—but you aren't going to convince me that _you_ want what I want."

"Is that so?" Regina questioned softly, her lips still twisted cruelly, her eyes on Emma's. "I think I can still tempt you though, Emma. Because I know what you want _most_ of all—you want to know who your mother is."

Emma narrowed her eyes—the queen was lying. She had to be.

Except that she wasn't.

Emma couldn't say that she saw the truth in Regina's eyes, because honestly, Emma couldn't see anything except her own reflection in the Evil Queen's eyes. Nor could she say that she heard the truth in the Evil Queen's voice, because likewise, there was nothing except vague contempt in her voice. No, she couldn't hear it or see it, but she could…feel it. She could feel it in her gut that Regina knew who Emma's mother had been. There was no doubt in Emma's mind that Regina was telling the truth.

Strangely, this didn't tempt Emma in the least. She thought of her grandmother—her _real_ grandmother, who had _always_ been there for Emma no matter what. She thought of her father. Despite the fact that he had kept the identity of Emma's mother hidden for her entire life, Emma knew that aligning herself with the Evil Queen was _not_ the way to get answers. It was _not_ what David would want for Emma, and she knew how disappointed he would be that she'd agreed to work with the Evil Queen in exchange for information.

Frowning, Emma opened her mouth to inform the Evil Queen of all this—of the fact that she knew that the Evil Queen was telling the truth. She knew it was the truth, but she wasn't going to help Regina in order to obtain this information. But before she could get the words out, the door to the room burst open, allowing two dark-haired females to slide into the room.

One was carrying a vibrant red cloak, who Emma immediately recognized as Red. She had her bright eyes focused on Regina, though she glanced at Emma briefly to give her a surprisingly wolfish smile. Emma could only gape.

The other was another familiar face—Snow White, blowing a cherry-sized black ball at the Evil Queen through a tube of sorts. She had no time to dodge it before it hit her directly on the forehead and exploded in a burst of inky black goo. A wave of dark purple light shimmered over the Evil Queen, and when it was through, she didn't move to wipe off the goo that was dripping down her forehead. Nor did she move an inch after the goo had touched her.

"I don't know how long that will last, we need to leave," Snow White urged, gesturing Emma towards her. Emma only hesitated a brief moment, thinking of the wasted opportunity that being captured provided her—but also thinking of how much easier it will be to face the Evil Queen on her own terms.

_Not easier,_ Emma corrected herself as she followed the pair down the hallway. _But it sure as hell isn't going to get any harder._

* * *

 

**_Note:_ ** _Ruth does not actually make contact with Rumplestiltskin. The poor Dark One is still under house-arrest. The bit at the beginning was just intending to show Ruth's love for Emma, how far she is willing to go for her granddaughter. Thank you!_


	18. The Resistance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

 

* * *

 

**The Resistance**

They made it out of the castle without incident, and were traipsing through the forest when the sound of hooves started up behind them. Snow and Red made eye-contact, their expressions indecipherable to Emma, silently communicating. Red took off her bright red traveling cloak and handed it to Snow, who grabbed Emma's hand and started pulling her along. Emma started to speak—but was quickly shushed by Snow, who started to tug her along again.

Emma glanced back at Red—only to see that a snarling wolf had replaced the tall woman. Stunned, Emma hardly realized that she was being rushed through the forest. Was Red…?

Emma didn't want to think about it. Shaking herself, Emma stopped forcing Snow to drag her through the woods, and started jogging alongside the other woman. Glancing to the side—

_Wait. Didn't Snow look a bit older than me when we first met?_ The other woman now looked to be Emma's age. The lines of her face were all smoothed, her hair was silkier, her cheeks sharper, and her eyes wider. Emma opened her mouth to say something, before realizing that it would probably be rude—her father had raised Emma better than to ask a woman why she had looked older the last time they'd met.

They practically flew through the forest together, the woods blurring into a green mess of shrubbery and leaves. Emma was pulled over mother logs, tugged underneath low-hanging branches, and pulled through the maze of the forest. She started accruing a good number of scrapes, and the dress she wore was being torn to shreds as she stumbled over it and was snagged by prickle bushes and tree branches. Her feet, which were bare, felt numb at that point. But Emma pushed on.

As they left behind the sounds of howling and hooves, Snow started to slow the pair down, until they were finally at a walking pace. Emma was breathing heavily, pressing one hand to her cramping stomach. She didn't consider herself out of shape by any means, but they must have sprinted at least a couple of miles, if not more. Emma was surprised that they weren't both a pile of sweaty bodies, collapsed on the forest floor.

"Where are we going?" Emma asked in a rush, hardly able to get the words out from the lack of air in her lungs.

"A safe house," Snow replied, only a bit out of breath.

"Why are you helping me?" Emma didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was the second time that Snow had helped her without any particular reason—any _real_ reason, that is. It didn't make sense why someone with so much at stake against the Evil Queen—her _life_ —would help some random girl. Not that she wasn't grateful. She was entirely grateful, but she was also confused. Not many people were so generous these days without an ulterior motive.

And 'why are you helping me' didn't even _begin_ to cover all of the questions filtering through Emma's mind. There were so many unknowns, so many variables, so many unanswerable questions about the trio that had aided in her escape from the Evil Queen. Most of them centered around who, exactly, these three rebels were, and how they knew Emma's mother.

Snow White stopped. Emma, who'd been walking behind and slightly to the left of her, nearly ran into the taller woman.

Her familiar green eyes met Emma's. They were hard, but softened almost instantly. It was as if she, too, was seeing something familiar in Emma. Kindred spirits maybe? Emma felt that it was something more. But damn it all if she could pinpoint _what_ that something more was.

Snow surveyed Emma, her mouth a thin line, eyes kind but calculating. It was as if she could see _through_ Emma, and Emma found herself fidgeting nervously, wondering what it was that Snow White saw. Could she see through the façade of the swan, straight through to the ugly duckling that Emma felt she was? Stumbling through an unfamiliar forest, following a familiar stranger, worrying more for the sake of her family than her own sake as she was hunted through the forest by the Evil Queen's own knights?

"It's not far," Snow White finally said, breaking the tender silence that had opened up between the pair. Emma blinked. "To the safe house, that is," Snow explained further, turning on her heel. "We can expect dinner if we make it there by nightfall."

Emma blanched, looking around at the brilliant golden-orange light of mid-morning. The amazing color spread across the tops of every tree and bush it touched, lit up the mist still in their air into a magical golden shade, making the whole forest seem ethereal. More importantly, however, the gorgeous colors and misty golden light signified that it was nowhere near nightfall. If 'by nightfall' was when they hoped to be at the safe house by, Emma worried over how much further they would actually have to travel before getting to rest.

_Apparently my not-far is the opposite of her not-far_ , Emma thought in annoyance, trudging along behind Snow. She didn't mention this, though. It was probably better to save her breath for the long hike before them.

 

* * *

 

 

About an hour and a half into their journey, when the golden light of mid-morning had passed, they were joined once more by Red. Emma stared at the older woman for a few seconds before realizing how impolite she was being, and turned away. Her thoughts wee churning, she couldn't help but think of her savior from Death By Siren. It hadn't made sense why some random animal had chosen to save her…but if that random animal was actual a wolf—who was actually a werewolf, who was actually Red—it would make a lot more sense.

Emma didn't say anything, however.

Instead, Emma thanked Red for rescuing her from the Evil Queen's clutches, and they continued on their trek in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

The sight of the log cabin was a welcome reprieve from the darkening woods that had started settling around Emma. If it had been her own house alight in the clearing, looking so warm and welcome, she would have run as fast as possible to make it inside. But since she didn't even know the owners of the cabin, and was essentially a guest of Snow White and Red, she decided against running.

She did, however, breath an audible sigh of relief once they were finally inside. Snow gave Emma a quick smile, took her hand and led her through the warm cabin, into a sparsely made up room.

"I have some clothes you can change into," Snow explained as she rummaged through a painstakingly carved wood dresser. Emma glanced down at her own sodden and ripped dress, and thanked Snow profusely. "You can leave your clothes over there. When you're finished dressing, come into the kitchen for dinner."

" _Thank you_ ," Emma emphasized. Warmth spread through her body when Snow smiled back at her—it was such a maternal smile, it made Emma's heart ache.

She quickly dressed in the slim beige pants, tan shirt, and grey fur vest. She slid on the fur boots—which were also lined with fur and felt absolutely heavenly against Emma's skin—and tied her long blonde hair in a high ponytail with a thin strip of leather that she usually wore around her wrist.

Emma gave the room a quick survey—there was a bed stuffed into the far corner, the dresser pressed up against the wall to Emma's left, and a high window only large enough to let in a light breeze. There was a carpet on the floor that, although small, warmed most of the hardwood floor, and now there was a pile of beat-up clothes in the corner, where Snow White instructed Emma to leave them. It certainly did not look like a very lived-in place, but Snow's clothes were in the dresser, so Emma assumed that this must have been her room.

Taking another quick glance around, Emma turned on her heel and left the room, feeling like she was playing dress-up in a stranger's clothes—even though they did fit almost perfectly.

She followed the sounds of talking to the kitchen, which was much larger and well-stocked than Emma's kitchen. There were several different breads and baked goods displayed in glass cases on the counters, the was even a clay oven, which appeared to be in use. Something hearty, by the smell—the well-lit area smelled heavily of vegetables, seasoning, and meat. Emma's stomach growled longingly.

The three inhabitants of the kitchen politely pretended not to notice.

"Emma, I would like you to meet Granny—she's my grandmother, but everyone just calls her granny," Red explained, gesturing to the stooped old woman who looked even older than Emma's own grandmother. Emma was surprised that the woman was still standing—she was hunched so that her eyes pointed almost directly to the floor. Her weathered, wrinkled hand rested on her hip, and her clothes seemed to hang off her. Emma would have imagined her to be dead on her feet—here eyes were even closed—if she hadn't jolted awake a second later.

"Huh? Who's this?" Granny asked loudly. Her back straightened, her blue eyes sharpened, and landed on Emma's almost predatorily. Emma swallowed.

"I'm Emma," Emma introduced herself.

"What?" The old woman practically shouted. "You have to speak up, girl, not all of us have damn good ears anymore!"

"Don't listen to her," Red sighed. "She likes to pretend she's just a cantankerous old woman, when she really hears better than I do." _That may be because you're a werewolf,_ Emma thought, glancing nervously to the side. She didn't voice her thoughts. No, self-preservation lived strong in her blood.

Granny looked smug. "And don't you forget it. Oh, and welcome to the resistance."

Emma cleared her throat, glancing around at the three women nervously. She didn't know what she was doing here. She _should_ be headed home—though she highly doubted that anyone was still around. If she knew her father, once he knew that she had actually been kidnapped, there would be no stopping him from attempting to rescue her. She just needed to either reach them first, or defeat the Evil Queen before she could send out her henchmen to kill him.

_Or capture him—what better bait than your own father?_

The thought made Emma's eyes widen. She hadn't considered that, and now she was hours away from the castle. She would have been better off staying there—or maybe _she_ would not have been, but her father certainly would have been. And Killian too, probably. Emma imagined them to be friends, at least, and if there was one thing she knew about Killian, it was that he was intensely loyal.

"Emma? Are you all right?" Snow and Granny's eyes were on Emma; Red's eyes were on Snow.

"My dad—and Killian—they're going to try and rescue me. I know it. I have to go back—I have to stop them, or defeat Regina before _she_ catches them."

Snow White's eyes widened in the same way that Emma's had moments ago. Anyone would think that _she_ had just imagined her loved ones in imminent danger.

Emma could picture it now. David dangling over a pit of roiling lava, Killian having his fingernails ripped off—Emma had never _imagined_ so many torture practices before, and half of them weren't plausible, but they were all running through her mind in that instant. Her heartbeat was rising, she felt flushed, and she could feel the magic bubbling to her fingertips—could feel herself _charging_ , readying for a transport back to _where¸_ she didn't know, but she knew that she needed to get there, and she almost had enough, was ready to poor herself away from there when—

"Think about that for a second though—" Red interjected. Emma took a huge breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She could feel the magic fizzle out through her pores—she lost it. Red continued, seemingly unaware that she had just interrupted Emma's magical scheme. "Emma, you were transported there by Blackbeard's magic bottle. It's actually a rather long trek from your home to the Evil Queen's castle—I can assure you, they won't be there for at _least_ a couple of days. You needn't worry right now."

Emma took a deep breath. She was right—of course she was right.

"Now, if we make a _plan_ , we finally have a chance. This is _our chance_ to finally defeat the Evil Queen. The Enchanted Forest will be free from her reign of terror. But first, we have to get food in our stomachs, a pillow beneath our heads, and we need to _rest_. Then, in the morning, we'll strategize. We managed to get you out, didn't we? How hard will it be to get you back in?"

Emma looked up at Red, cautious hope in her eyes. "You'll help me? You'll help me defeat her?"

Red smiled. "Of course."

"And I'll help too," Snow added quickly. Emma glanced at the other woman, a slight smile growing on her face.

"Okay," Granny spoke wryly. "If we're all finished with this helpful little love-fest, it's time to eat."

Emma let out another breath, looking down at her hands. She felt reassured, knowing that she had help—even if she didn't exactly know the help she was getting. They had come through for her before, without even knowing her name. And Red was a friend of her father's anyways. So there were only a couple of questions Emma needed answered.

Who was Snow White, how did Graham know Emma's mother (who was Emma's mother?).

Oh, and how the hell did Red know how Blackbeard brought Emma to the Evil Queen's castle?

 

* * *

 

 

"This is not ideal," David grumbled. If Emma had been near, she would have instantly called him out on his pouting—which is not what he was doing, mind you, but it would certainly appear that way to his daughter. His arms were crossed stubbornly—or, at least, crossed as much as he could manage in his position—his frown was severe, and his look would most likely skewer anyone.

"Mate," the pirate muttered, his voice muffled only slightly. "We passed 'ideal' several hours ago. Whatever you do, do not move your foot."

"Wasn't planning on it," David replied, only a hint of spite in his tone. He wanted to move his foot, just to irk the pirate—but then he would probably end up in much of the same position, given the precariously placed elbow Jones had on him.

"How often do you think they check this thing?"

David grimaced. A severe itch had started up at his shoulder. Most likely some bug had bitten him after being uprooted from its home on the ground—where David desperately wished he was. "Depends on who 'they' are," David finally admitted. He knew several trappers in the area—none who should be setting up rope traps this large, but that was besides the point. And anyways, it wasn't _that_ large—he and the pirate were just _too squished_. At the moment, David couldn't tell his elbow from his knee. Both were terrifyingly numb, and neither could he see.

"Why don't you make that hook of yours useful?" David grouched. It wasn't the first time he'd made the suggestion. "It's your fault we're in this mess anyways."

"I do believe _you_ are the one who stepped on the trap first, mate." Jones corrected, his tone just a bit south of frosty. "And like I told you the _other_ thousand times you asked, my hook does not _cut_. It's not a bloody knife."

"Well you could at least try!" David exclaimed. "And you're the one who had the brilliant idea to take a _shortcut_ through hunter's territory? What kind of pirate doesn't know a _trap_ when he sees one?"

"What do you _think_ I've been doing down here? Do you think I've been rubbing my forearm against your back for what—for kicks?" The pirate huffed. "And a pirate knows the sea—not the bloody forest. I thought that was a _shepherd's_ job."

"A _shepherd's_ job is to tend to _sheep_!" David corrected angrily. "And you might as well be gnawing at the rope for all that you're doing."

"Well Dave, it's more than you're—" he never got to finish his sentence, because a moment later, the moss- and decay-covered ropes that had been keeping them suspended five feet off the forest floor snapped, leaving the two men groaning on the ground. From the look of the ropes, it would seem that they gave out simply from the weight of the two men combined, rather than any half-hearted sawing effort that the pirate had made.

When they were both standing with their crumpled packs in hand, they stared at each other.

"Never speak of this to Emma—"

"Ever."

It didn't matter who said what; they were both in complete agreement. Turning, David wordlessly directed the pair out of the trapper's territory and back on the main road. It would put another few hours on their trip, but it was nothing compared to the time—and humiliation—that would set them back if they were caught up in another unseen trap.


	19. Bedtime Talks

**Disclaimer:** Don't own.

* * *

**Bedtime Talks**

Emma rolled onto her back, no more tired than she was half an hour ago. She knew that she needed sleep—knew that, without it, outsmarting the Evil Queen and making her love again, showing her love, or whatever the White Witch had said, would be more difficult. But she couldn't put her thoughts to rest. She couldn't stop thinking about her father and Killian, couldn't stop thinking about Red and Blackbeard and Snow White.

"Having trouble falling asleep?" Came a soft voice half a foot above Emma.

Emma squinted her eyes open. Snow was looking down at her with a strange sort of longing. Not like she wanted to kiss Emma—more like she wanted to hug her. Emma shook it off and sighed.

"Too many thoughts. The whole plan relies on Graham knowing exactly when the guard shifts rotate, and that he knows exactly where the Evil Queen will be precisely when we arrive." _The whole plan relies on me trusting all of you_ , Emma thought, but did not say. It'd probably be considered rude not to trust the people who were feeding and housing you.

"Don't worry about those details," Snow said with only a hint of reprimanding in her tone. "All you need to worry about is keeping up your strength and focus so that, when the time comes, you will defeat the Evil Queen."

"Converting," Emma corrected. "I need to try and convert her to the side of good before I try and defeat her." Silence greeted her words. Emma closed her eyes and saw visions of her gruesome death on the backs of her eyelids. Blinking them open once more, she continued. "If I try and defeat her, or worse, before ever trying to help her back to the side of light, then I'm no better than here, am I?"

Snow was silent for a beat too long. Emma wondered what would happen if their philosophies proved to differ. Would Snow and Red rescind their offers of aid? Would Emma need to figure out how to infiltrate the castle on her own? Emma felt a thread of nervousness in her gut. Perhaps Snow had fallen asleep?

No; moments later, Snow spoke again, her voice a whispering thread in the darkness of the room.

"No," she said. "I suppose not."

And that was the end of that conversation.

But another hour later, when they had both been tossing and turning, obviously awake, Snow had started up a different topic.

"Emma?" Snow hedged.

"Yeah?"

"Whenever I had trouble sleeping as a child, my mother would lie next to me and sing until I fell asleep." Snow said, her voice muted in the heavy darkness.

Emma rolled onto her side, looked up at Snow with one eyebrow raised.

"She died when I was young, but I still have those memories of her. Of her brushing my hair, braiding flowers into it on special occasions, always so thoughtful and kind. She doted on me, and was adored by all of our kin—" Snow's voice broke off, and she fell silent.

_Must have been nice_ , Emma thought, but it didn't hold the tint of bitterness that usually crept into her thoughts upon other's mention of their mothers. Instead, there was a hint of sorrow in her thoughts for the mother that Snow lost. A strange bit of sadness, a feeling of loss that seemed entirely out of place…

Emma shook those feelings off.

"Losing someone so close at a young age must have been difficult for you," Emma said softly.

Snow White sniffed. "It was," she agreed. "I was heartbroken, both my father and I were. I was _so_ excited when my father was remarried to Regina. I never imagined that she would replace my mother, but it was a relief that I would have a maternal figure in my life again."

Emma stilled. "You're…the Evil Queen's stepdaughter?" There was some niggling thought trying to unbury itself from the recesses of Emma's mind…some wisp of an idea, of a revelation, that Emma couldn't quite put her finger on.

Snow glanced down at Emma, confusion apparent on her face, even in the darkness. "David never told you the story of Snow White and the Evil Queen?"

Emma shook her head. It was odd to hear Snow White refer to herself in the third person, and odder still to hear the woman say Emma's father's name. And this new information, that Snow White was the Evil Queen's stepdaughter…Emma wasn't sure how she felt about that. Obviously they were on the outs, since Snow was actively part of a group of four people that called itself the Resistance. But for how long had this been going on? The Evil Queen had been…well, the Evil Queen ever since Emma could remember. How old _was_ Snow?

It didn't seem that she was very much inclined to tell Emma, or regale the story that she'd just mentioned. Snow was silent, in her own world, her eyes very far away. Emma didn't know how she felt about the information…but Snow had been nothing but nice to her, nothing but helpful when they had their first encounter aboard Blackbeard's pirate ship. Emma had no real reason not to trust her, or doubt her when she said that she was on Emma's side. And really, it wasn't any of Emma's business what had happened in Snow's family life—even if Regina _did_ claim to be Emma's grandmother.

Instead, Emma decided to return the favor—Snow had put herself out there by telling Emma about her mother. She hadn't needed to divulge such personal information, just for the sake of comforting a half-stranger. But she had anyways, and for that, Emma was grateful.

"My father used to tell me bedtime stories, and my grandmother would run her hands through my hair to get me to sleep. Dad—he's one of the best storytellers out there. With them, I hardly ever had trouble going to sleep. We didn't have much, still don't have much" —though she suspected that would change, given that she'd uncovered her missing Uncle who was also a king, and a son-in-law to Midas— "But I never had to wonder if I was loved or not. I always knew."

It was all true. Emma _always_ knew that she was loved by her father and grandmother. It was in everything they did for each other. Her father electing to sleep on the floor, so that Emma and Ruth would at least get a comfortable night's sleep. The pair of them making an extra effort to make each of Emma's birthday's special, even if it was just a bowl of perfectly ripe strawberries.

"Then why—" Snow broke off, her voice choked up. Emma felt it odd that Snow was getting so emotional over Emma's stories. And there it was again—that little _not quite right something's missing something's wrong_ idea was pervading her thoughts. Emma frowned, thinking hard, trying to catch even a _hint_ of what was missing from the picture. When it disappeared once again, Emma sighed.

"Why would I choose to try and take down Regina? When I have a family who loves me, who cares for me, why would I risk that in taking on the Evil Queen?" Emma guessed at what Snow was trying to ask. She took the muffled mumbling that came in response as a yes. "It's _because_ of them that I try. I mean, I've always felt like—like there's something _more_ I should be doing. I think it's my…god, my _purpose_ , I guess, to defeat her. But she is an awful monarch, and under her reign, my family is not safe. _Especially_ if the queen moves on with her plans to take Arendelle by force. It's because of them that I try."

Snow was silent for a very long time, as was Emma. In fact, by the time she finally said something, Emma was on the brink of falling asleep, and not entirely happy that she was being delayed.

"Your mother," Snow started, her voice eerily calm, strangely defeated. Emma waited patiently while Snow struggled to find words. "She…doesn't…didn't… _deserve_ to have such an amazing, caring, _beautiful_ girl like you, Emma."

And with those words, Emma fell asleep.

* * *

Red was watching Snow watching Emma.

She'd been doing it a lot in the past couple of days.

Honestly, she was starting to feel like an overbearing mother. But she was worried about her best friend of over twenty years. The woman was in pain, it was obvious to anyone who knew her, and Red felt helpless in the matter. She couldn't imagine what Snow was going through.

"Quit staring, girl," Granny growled from behind. "Snow made her bed, now she has to sleep in it."

"I don't think she got any sleep last night. But she insisted Emma be put in her room instead of the spare." Red glanced back at her aging grandmother. The old woman was stooped and withered, but her eyes were filled with steel, and she was still as strong as an ox. Red supposed it was the werewolf genes. Or the fact that Widow was the most stubborn woman alive.

"How are things going with you and the Huntsman?" Granny asked casually.

Red narrowed her eyes. "Stay out of it, Granny."

"I can't be concerned about my granddaughters love life? If he's too _shy_ to make the first move, what's stopping you?"

Red smirked. "Oh, I have. The ball in his court now. If he wants to make his move, nothing's stopping him."

Granny raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to comment—but they both stopped.

Red glanced from Snow, standing at the window longingly, to the window nearest to where Red stood. She stopped, held her breath, and listened closely.

And heard the subtle sound of hooves.

* * *

The next morning, Emma was practicing her magic in the front yard. She'd awoken at the crack of dawn, ready to help her father tend to the sheep, wondering if Ruth had gotten to tending to Jill's wounded leg—but that illusion had quickly vanished when she realized where she was. And when she thought of where her father probably was, she couldn't close her eyes again to fall back asleep. Instead, Emma chose to ready herself for the daunting day ahead, and had started to work on her magic while everyone else slept on.

Hours later, she felt slightly more confident in her abilities.

But only slightly.

It was like trying to control the amount of water that came out of a bottle, when the bottle had no weight, and there was an indefinite amount of liquid inside of it. She couldn't test her limits, didn't know how much water was in the bottle, didn't know how much magic she held within her, which made pouring the correct amount of 'water' into her efforts difficult. It was easier when she was making Smee's hat disappear—and more amusing. But concentrating the magic into a physical attack was proving more difficult.

She could feel that she was being watched, but couldn't find it within herself to care. They probably just wanted to make sure she was up to snuff when it came to magic—make sure she had a chance against the Evil Queen. Honestly, she didn't really blame them.

Emma was at an intermediate level at best. Considering that she'd only discovered it a few weeks ago, she didn't think that this was such a bad thing. By all rights, she should probably still be struggling to do simple things, like making the leaves tremble, or disappearing a branch only to have it reappear ten feet to the left.

But she also knew that Regina was at an advanced level. Intermediate would not cut it, if the situation came to it.

Emma just had to hope that it didn't. She had to hope that some sort of revelation would come to her, she had to hope that she would miraculously figure out the puzzle of the white witch's words, and would be able to turn Regina back to the side of light—if she'd ever even been on this side in the first place.

"Emma!" Emma jerked to the sound of her name. Snow was heading towards her quickly, a dark look on her face. Her light green eyes were stormy, her pink lips were set in a thin line.

"What's up?" Emma asked, her voice softer than it should have been. She cleared her throat, but couldn't help but think of the night before. There was just something… _something_ about Snow White that reminded Emma of something she couldn't name. There was something familiar about her, something comforting, and what she had said last night made Emma all the more determined to find out what that _something_ was.

"Granny and Red heard hooves—they think that Black Knights are approaching. Come on, we need to hurry before they—"

"Before they what?" Came the chillingly cool voice of the Evil Queen. "Call off your dogs, Snow White, before I call them off for you," she added in response to the threatening growl that had started up as soon as she'd appeared.

"Red," Snow said after a moment as knight after knight entered their line of sight, gathering in a half-circle around them. "Granny, we can handle this," The growling subsided.

It was official. Red—and probably Granny, too—was _definitely_ a werewolf.

The revelation fell to the back of Emma's mind.

"Tie them up." The Evil Queen ordered, whirling around. "Take the girl to her room, and bring Snow White to the tower—I have _special_ accommodations for people who break their deals."

* * *

"You _said_ that your information was reliable," David hissed, his eyes narrowed on Hook's with all the threat of a raging bear.

"I thought it was," Hook replied, sounding exasperated and not the least bit worried. David didn't care how worried the pirate was—he'd put his trust in him and had been failed. "Maybe she escaped?"

David frowned, but shook his head resolutely. "No. If she had, we would have heard about it. Her majesty isn't known for passively letting prisoner's escape." Worry sank in his stomach. He didn't want to think about what could have been done to her. Had they taken too long? It had only been a couple of days. Were they too late?

_No_. David refused to believe that. They weren't too late, they _couldn't be_ too late. With a growl of frustration, David spun on his heel and began stalking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" the pirate demanded.

"To find my daughter."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I'm going to look where all prisoner's are taken. In the dungeons." David replied simply, hurrying for the stairwell. He didn't know anything about the guard's rotation schedule in any other part of the castle, so he was running on sheer luck at this point. But it seemed that luck was on his side—they didn't cross paths with any Black knights on the way down.

But when they reached the bottom level, their luck appeared to have run out.

"Hey!" The Black knight shouted—but he didn't get to say much else. It was two against one, and the odds were not in favor of the knight. Together, Hook and David made quick work of the poor man, and in no time the pirate was patting down the unconscious body.

"Check for keys—she might be locked up," David ordered.

"What do you bloody think I'm doing?" Hook shot back irritably. "Feeling him up for sport?"

"Just hurry up, our time is running out." David frowned. He'd had it with the pirate, and if he _wasn't_ as much help as he had proved himself to be, David would have left him miles ago. But—unreliable contacts aside—the pirate had proved himself to be a help. Not that David would ever admit to anything.

"Don't you think—here we go," David looked down at the sudden change in Hook's voice. Hook was grinning up at him, a ring of keys dangling from one finger. David snatched them from the pirate and started hurrying down the corridor.

"Slow down mate,"

"Not a chance," David replied. "We're _this_ close to finding her, I can feel it."

"For Emma's sake, I hope you're right."

"Over here!"

Both men halted at once. David felt his heart palpitate—it _was her_.

* * *

Emma had heard voices, she was certain of it. Emma pressed her face between the bars of her cell—apparently her 'room' was now a cell in the dungeons—trying with all her might to still her heart and slow her breathing. But her heart was pumping so _loud_ , it was a miracle she could hear her own breath over its drumming.

She'd been thrown into the dirty, straw-filled cell what felt like hours ago. Every half hour, a Black Knight made rounds. Other than the knight, Emma was the only one around—there were no other occupants in the other cells, and only the one guard that made the rounds. Emma wasn't sure whether she should be relieved at this or nervous.

_No_ , she thought, straightening her shoulders. _No nerves. I can do this—I_ will _do this. I will defeat the Evil Queen._

The muffled sound of voices came again. It sounded like multiple people were arguing. Emma strained to hear, but she could only make out a few annoyed words that sounded exceedingly familiar. But Emma wasn't stupid—if they _were_ Killian and her father, then alerting the Black Knights to their presence wouldn't help either of their causes. So, Emma waited, her ears perked and her breath stilled as the voices drew closer. With each new word that she caught, she became more and more certain that it was David and Captain Hook.

"…sake, I hope you're right," Emma heard, loud and clear—they were just around the corner. Emma couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Over here!" She whisper-shouted. Their footsteps halted—and then doubled as they both sprinted around the corner.

The sight of her father and Killian, running towards her with looks of equal relief on their faces, was one that Emma would never forget. She felt giddiness light up her insides. Grinning, Emma stepped back from the cell door, knowing that they would have some sort of key to unlock it. Emma certainly wouldn't be any help in unlocking it—her hands and wrists were bound tightly behind her back, and she couldn't seem to use her magic without the use of her hands.

Emma let out a breath of relief.

Killian and David—they were here.

They had come.


	20. The Tower

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**The Tower**

Emma was engulfed in a hug as soon as the gate swung open. She inhaled deeply, reassured by her father's familiar smell, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist in return. She felt him place his hand on her head, smooth down the hair a couple times, before they both pulled back.

"You found me," Emma smiled.

David nodded, an expression of contentment on his face. But then his expression turned serious. "We have to go. I don't know how long the path will be clear for us, so we need to hurry."

Emma shook her head urgently. "No, my friend—Snow White, she was taken up to a tower to be—I don't know—by the Evil Queen. We have to save her."

At the name 'Snow White', David stilled. His eyes were suddenly distant, his hands gripped her shoulders, and his mouth fell open a bit.

"Dad?" Emma questioned.

David jerked, looked down at Emma with wide blue eyes. There was conflict in their depths, but for the life of Emma, she couldn't discern what he was conflicted about. A moment later, David whirled around and started sprinting down the corridor.

"I saw a stairwell going up this way. Come on, let's go!" He called back as he practically flew around the corner.

Emma did not move.

Neither did Killian.

The pair stood in silence for several long moments—and several moments too long. There wasn't any time to spare. If Emma wanted to save Snow White, she needed to hurry. And with David rushing headfirst into danger, she _definitely_ needed to hurry.

Slowly, Emma edged out of the cell, until she was standing directly in front of Killian. He was looking at his boots—seemed almost afraid of looking at Emma. But Emma knew that couldn't be true. Captain Hook wasn't afraid of anything.

"Hey," Emma said, her voice too loud in the empty corridor, yet too soft at the same time. "You rescued me. Thank you"

"Aye," Killian replied, his voice low. Abruptly, his demeanor changed. He lifted his eyes up to meet Emma's. Emma was surprised by the…heat in their blue depths. He dragged a thumb across his lower lip and continued. "I do suppose that gratitude is in order."

"Yeah," Emma said with a smirk. "That's what the 'thank you' is for." But she negated her words almost immediately, and pulled Hook forward by his coat.

To be honest, it was Emma's first kiss. She'd never gotten the opportunity, helping out on the farm for most of her childhood. And whenever she went to the market, it was usually with her father, who would not have approved of such trysts.

That being said, Emma thought the kiss was certainly pleasant. His lips were surprisingly soft, and though he seemed surprised

"That was…"

"A onetime thing," Emma replied with a smirk. Turning on her heel, Emma laced her fingers through Killian's hand, and started tugging him along the corridor. "Now come on, we've got to catch up with my Dad."

 

* * *

 

Killian and Emma flew up the stairs where they assumed David had disappeared to. Emma could hear someone running up ahead, and she hoped to god that it was her father.

They made it up the staircase in record time, and Emma had the exhaustion to prove it. But they were where they needed to be.

Snow, directly across from the entrance to the tower, was chained against the wall, her eyes filled with anguish and her mouth bound with cloth. David was being held by an invisible force against the wall adjacent to where Emma and Killian stood, helpless against the magic that was slowly choking him. For one long, horrifying moment, Emma was worried that she'd arrived too late. But her father's eyes flickered towards her, urgent, and Emma acted on pure instinct.

In an instant, Emma had thrown her hand out to move David out of the way from Regina's magic, and she had the Evil Queen's throat underneath her fingertips in no time. Pushing her against the wall, Emma practically snarled. _No one_ messed with her father.

"What do you _want_ Regina?" Emma demanded, her voice cold.

"I only—" Regina choked, her throat closing due to the pressure of Emma's hand. Emma let up only a fraction. Confusion flickered through her though—why wasn't the Evil Queen fighting back? Her hands lay limply at her sides, not even attempting to defend herself.

"I only want…what's best for you, dear," she finally gasped out, her dark eyes narrowed on Emma's. "I want you to learn how to use your powers to the full extent of your… _ability_ ," she spat the word like an expletive.

"I don't need or _want_ your help, Regina. Why don't you give this up? You won't win. Give up your claim to the crown and maybe I _won't_ destroy you," she was bluffing. She was bluffing so hard that she was surprised her voice didn't shake.

Regina grinned like the cat that ate the canary, though her eyes were lifeless once more. "But my dear, don't you want to know who your mother is? I could tell you—right now, in fact."

There was something about that sentence…Emma shook her head. She had to _focus_ , couldn't be bought by the Evil Queen's tricks.

"I don't care who she is," Emma denied. "And you aren't going to fool me into joining you."

The Evil Queen looked dubious. "You are going to join me, Miss Charming, because you _do_ want to know who your mother is." She laughed callously, her throat jumping under Emma's hand. Emma's fingers twitched. "You've wanted to know your all your life. How could you not? How could you just forget about the woman who abandoned you and your father? Don't you want to know what kind of woman would do that?"

"I used to…" Emma felt her voice weakening. But when she looked at the Evil Queen, saw the carefully constructed façade of carelessness and contempt, she squared her shoulders and forced her voice to cooperate. "I used to imagine my mother. What she was like, why she—why she left me and my dad. I would imagine her as such grand things—a pirate who missed the sea, a sorceress from some distant land, a beautiful woman who'd been kidnapped, and was painstakingly trying to make her way home to us—to me. It was all just to distract myself from the reality of the fact…the reality that she was a woman who had a child that she did not want. A family that she did not want. She was just another wife and mother who had abandoned her family."

Emma took a deep breath. This was the hardest part. Turning, Emma looked towards her father, his eyes wide and teary, violently shaking his head, trying to tell her something. He didn't say anything to stop her, though. Emma could figure out what he was trying to say later.

She looked at Killian, silent in his understanding. Emma blushed, thinking of their kiss—thinking that, when this was over, perhaps she'd have to make it _not_ a one-time thing. He smiled a small, encouraging smile.

And then she looked at Snow, who looked absolutely heartbroken. Her eyes were wide and devastated, her mouth dropping open, trying to form words that would not come. Killian or David must have let her down from the wall, for she'd taken a half-step forward from the wall.

Emma thought back to their conversation about mothers, thought back to falling asleep feeling, for the first time, like she didn't really _need_ one. Feeling, for the first time, like perhaps the mother she'd had didn't deserve her—it was not _Emma's_ fault the woman had left, it had been her own conscious decision. No matter how many stories Emma made up to contradict that fact.

Hell, she was great, and so was her father. David was such an amazing Dad, Emma didn't think _she_ deserved him. And the woman who'd birthed Emma…she sure as hell did not deserve _either_ of them.

She felt her heart resolve. Smiling at the trio, Emma turned back to Regina.

"But it doesn't matter anymore," she said, her voice lighter. "All the wasted time I spent, wondering who she was, why she left me—all of it, it's over. I've finally realized that, whatever the reason, she left us. She's gone, and she's had nearly twenty years of opportunity to come back. But I'm done. Whoever she is, whoever she was, or could have been, or should have been—she doesn't _deserve_ us. So no, Regina. I don't care that you know who she is. I don't care that you're offering me what you think are my dreams—what _I_ thought were my dreams for _such_ a long time. I'm not going to take up your offer. I don't care who my mother is. And you can go to hell."

Quick as a flash, Emma stuck her hand in Regina's chest and ripped out the Evil Queen's heart.

"Emma, no!" Snow screamed. Regina had a greasy smile on her face, and it was the first of her expressions that Emma could see _actual_ emotion in. "That's not Regina's heart!"

Emma turned, her mouth dropping open in shock. Regina did not move a hairsbreadth, apparently content to stay under Emma's palm.

Emma looked down at the heart, bright and red and swirling with a darker maroon. _Surely the Evil Queen's heart would have a even_ spot _of blackness…_

"Then whose heart is it?" Emma asked, truly confused. Was it even possible to swap hearts? What would be the purpose? What would be the consequences?

Snow took a deep breath, looking deeply ashamed. Emma felt a pit of dread grow in her stomach. Snow's eyes flicked up to meet Emma's, green to green. _We've got the same color, the same shape,_ the thought was completely out of place in her mind, but in that instant, Emma wondered if there was anything else they had in common.

"The heart is mine, Emma."


	21. Revelations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Once Upon a Time.

* * *

 

**Revelations**

_Snow White._

It was all David had heard.

_Snow White._

Emma was in his arms, safe. He should've been happy, thrilled, ecstatic. Should've gotten them out of the castle as soon as possible.

_Snow White_.

The name stopped him.

_Snow White_.

Known, to David and Ruth at least, as Mary Margaret. Emma's mother, and David's wife.

"Dad?" he heard Emma's voice and jerked, startled. He looked down at her, his eyes wide. Conflict tore through him. On the one hand, he'd finally made it to his daughter, and had the opportunity to save her. But _Snow White_. _Mary Margaret_ was in danger. And as strong as she was, as resilient and stubborn and _amazing_ as she was, if she was trapped by the Evil Queen, she had little chance of escaping once more. Deals be damned, Regina wasn't one to let an opportunity slide by twice.

So David made his decision. Emma was strong, and powerful. As a father, he would always worry about her. But as a husband, even after being separated for decades, and as a man in love—damn it, even after all the years of heartache—he needed to save his wife.

David whirled around abruptly, and tore off down the corridor.

"I saw a stairwell going up this way. Come on, let's go!" David shouted back to his daughter and the pirate, hardly sparing a moment to call the words back. Who knew what was being done to Mary Margaret that very moment? He needed to hurry.

Spotting the stairwell, David sprinted towards it, and began taking the stairs two at a time. He hardly noticed that Emma and Hook weren't following him, so focused on saving Mary Margaret.

Exhaustion didn't touch David. He burst through the entrance to the tower in record time, and immediately started scanning the area for Mary Margaret.

And then he saw her.

And his breath stopped.

And it was like a day had not passed by since he had last seen her.

His heart beat picked up, his palms felt warm, and he clenched them tightly together. His face was warm—he felt like a teenager spotting his crush for the first time.

Mary Margaret looked the same as ever, like a day hadn't even passed. How was it possible?

Her skin was soft and smooth, her cheeks round and pink. She had a look of stubborn ferocity about her. Her hair was pulled back, she wore an outfit that would blend in with the environment.

As if in slow motion, she turned to look towards the noise of him storming through the door.

Her eyes met his, green, and glittering, and fierce. And David fell in love all over again.

"Mmg!" Snow's voice was muffled by a gag, but David could practically hear her saying his name anyways. The memory of her musical voice was a melody to his ears.

He knew he should be angry, should be _furious_ —and he was, absolutely livid. She had left him to raise Emma, had left him to a life of yearning and heartache. She had left her _family_.

But they could talk about that later. In that instant, anger couldn't touch David, he was just so happy that he would finally get the chance to see his wife again, to talk to her, to hold her. To _love_ her.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, everything. But then it all went to hell.

"Charming," a second voice sneered. He was thrown against the stone walls of the tower, and his breath fled his lungs.

 The Evil Queen was there with them. 

* * *

 

"I saw a stairwell going up this way. Come on, let's go!" David was already sprinting down the hallway. A moment later, he was out of sight and sound.

Emma had yet to move.

Killian's fingers itched to pull her out of the cell and wrap her in an embrace. But the lass was probably having enough of a day as it was, he didn't want to add any more confusion to her. His feelings could wait.

Slowly, Emma emerged from the cell. Killian clenched his fist.

"Hey," she said when she was standing directly in front of him. Her voice was soft, travelling only far enough to reach Killian's ears. "You rescued me. Thank you."

"Aye," Killian replied, dropping his voice a pitch. "I do suppose gratitude is in order…" He couldn't have stopped himself from saying the words if he'd wanted to. But he couldn't help but respond to the invitation in Emma's gaze, the playfulness in her words. He didn't expect her to respond to the heat in his eyes, didn't expect to see her bright emerald gaze follow the path of his thumb.

"Yeah," Emma smirked, her eyes mischievous. "That's what the 'thank you' is for," she informed him. He didn't expect the sultriness in her voice.

He certainly did not expect his swan to grab him by the lapels of his coat and pull him in for a kiss.

The kiss was short, and incredibly prude compared to Captain Hook's usual standards. But for Killian Jones, it was glorious. Her lips against his, her hands against his jacket, pulling him close. He longed to touch her hair, to pull her golden locks through his fingers, to caress her rosy cheeks. It had begun in an instant, it was over an instant, and Killian was left yearning for more.

Killian blinked.

"That was…" he was at a loss for words to describe the kiss.

"A one-time thing." Emma finished cheekily. Before he could even think to pick a response—for he had several—Emma was surprising him once more by taking him by the hand. Her fingers were soft in his.

He would follow her anywhere.

"Now come on, we've got to catch up with my dad."

 

* * *

 

_Snow took a deep breath, looking deeply ashamed. Emma felt a pit of dread grow in her stomach. Snow's eyes flicked up to meet Emma's, green to green._ We've got the same color, the same shape _, the thought was completely out of place in her mind, but in that instant, Emma wondered if there was anything else they had in common._

_"The heart is mine, Emma."_

_The heart is mine, Emma._

It gave Emma pause.

"What do you _mean_ it's your heart?" Emma demanded, almost shocked beyond words. She stared down at the fragile organ in her hand. For one brief moment, it pulsed black, with only a small center of red. But then it was back to being the swirling reds and maroons.

" _Crush it_ ," Regina hissed under Emma's hand. "Go ahead, _destroy me_ , and you'll take _her_ with you. But…maybe she deserves it."

Emma frowned.

"Go ahead, Emma." Regina egged on. "Kill us, and you'll never have to deal with your mother again."

"Emma!"

" _Quiet¸_ Charming." The Evil Queen snapped, snarling viciously at David.

"Emma, listen to me honey," David pleaded. Emma glanced back at her father, her eyes wide. She was confused, she was angry. Her emotions were flickering through her mind so quickly that she didn't know _what_ to feel. She was so frustated, she didn't know what was _going_ on. Emma was supposed to be converting Regina to the side of good, not trying to crush her heart—and apparently, Snow White's heart along with it.

But with her father's eyes on her a cool feeling spilled through her, quieting the nasty thoughts rioting through her mind that told her to just _do_ it, Snow would understand the sacrifice. Surely killing one innocent woman along with a horrible queen who'd murdered countless innocent people in cold blood would not make Emma like that Evil Queen. The deeds just didn't match up.

But she couldn't. That wasn't who she was, and anyways, could she really do it with her _father_ watching? With _Killian_ watching?

Seeing he had her attention, David opened his mouth to speak—but was cut off by Regina.

The words she spoke went right through Emma. She didn't hear them, they were in one ear and out the other.

When she finally processed them…it wasn't really much of a shock.

In a way, Emma imagined that she had always known. Ever since she first laid eyes on her, she'd put the pieces together. There were a couple pieces that didn't quite fit—the age, for one, which still didn't have an explanation—but it was always there in the background. The casual knowledge. It just _felt right_.

Perhaps this is why not even a shredof disbelief rippled through her. Emma couldn't find it within herself to deny the claim that the Evil Queen made. Even knowing that Regina was a liar, Emma couldn't deny the truth in the statement.

But it was so wrong.

Hurt and anger flashed through her. All this time…All this time… _All this time._

Emma could feel eyes on her. They were all watching her, waiting to see how she would react. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, finally, Emma could think the words that Regina had said to her.

They were so simple. Just five words. But holding _so much weight_.

Snow White is your mother.

Snow White is your mother.

"Snow White is my mother…" Emma breathed the words. Her hands fell to her sides. She was still clutching the heart, but she was not holding Regina's neck. Regina did nothing.

They were all staring at her.

Snow White was staring at her.

_Emma's mother_ was staring at her.

So much anger bubbled up in Emma. Just moments ago she had renounced her mother, had renounced the woman who'd left her as a baby and hadn't looked back. Why was it that as soon as she finally felt free of the weight Snow White's abandonment had caused, the truth was revealed? Why was it that as soon as she felt free, she was dragged right back down into all of the _pain_ that came with having a mother who did not _want_ Emma enough to stay with her?

Emma looked up into her father's eyes. Expecting anger as well, expecting to see pain. After all, he had been left too. Now that the truth was out, he could express that anger.

When she looked into his eyes, she did see those things. She saw anger and pain and resentment.

But she also saw love.

And Emma _knew_. Knew that, even after all this time—after all the time he'd spent in agony over his lost love, along without his wife—Emma knew that her father still loved Snow White.

"You still love her?" Emma asked, her voice breaking.

David didn't look at Emma when he replied—his eyes never left Snow White's. "I do. As if no time has passed since she left us."

Emma nodded. Perhaps these were the words she had needed to hear. Slowly, Emma turned her head, until her eyes finally came to rest on Snow White.

Snow White, who'd been looking at David, must have felt Emma's eyes on her. Her mouth a thin line, she turned to look at her daughter.

Emma's heart beat erratically. "Mom?" She whispered.

Tears were falling down Snow White's cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded once.

Emma let out a shuddering breath and opened her mouth—but no words came out.

"As touching as this family reunion is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to break it up."

Emma jerked around, just in time for the Evil Queen's hand to plunge into _Emma's_ chest.

"You _stupid_ girl," the Evil Queen grinned nastily. "You should have realized—families are a weakness. _Love_ is a weakness."

And she _pulled_ , and Emma felt her heart jerk wildly in her chest. It was pain like she'd never imagined.

But nothing happened.

Regina frowned, looking down at the hand that was stuck inside Emma's chest. She shook her head, muttering "But you can't be—"

Whatever it was that Emma could not be, she would never know. Before the Evil Queen could get the final words out, a blast of bright golden light burst from Emma's heart. The last Emma saw of Regina was a wide-eyed, startled expression as she was thrown backwards. She tumbled over the wall of the tower, and disappeared without a sound.

_Love is not weakness,_ Emma thought. It was the only though that came through in her astounded—and slightly horrified—mind. _It's strength._


End file.
